Then she screamed: "O Kitty! here is Harry Temple." And then she blushed, so that Mr. Walsingham looked at both of us with a meaning smile. He came sauntering along the walk, looking about him carelessly, for as yet he knew none of the company. His manner was improved since last I saw him, a year and more ago: that was doubtless due to a visit to the Continent. He was a handsome fellow certainly, though not so tall or so handsome as Lord Chudleigh: his features were smaller and his air less distinguished; but still a pretty fellow. I thought of Nancy's secret and laughed to myself, as yet never suspecting what he would say. The great difference at first sight between Harry Temple and Lord Chudleigh was that the former looked as if he was ready to take the place which the world would assign to him, while the latter would step to the front and stand there as if in his proper place. It is a grand thing to be a leader of men. Suddenly he saw us, and stood still with such a look of bewilderment and astonishment as I never saw. "Nancy!"--he had his eyes upon me all the time--"I knew you were here, but--but----" Here Nancy burst out laughing. "Harry does not remember you, Kitty. Oh the inconstancy of men!" "Kitty?" It was his turn to look confused now. "Is it possible? Kitty Pleydell? Yet, surely----" "I am sorry that Mr. Temple so easily forgets his old friends," I said. "No, no. Forget? not at all." He was so disconcerted that he spoke in single words. "But such a change!" "A year ago," I said, "I was in russet and brown holland, with a straw hat. But this watering-place is not my native village, and I wear brown holland frocks no longer." "Save in a pastoral," said Mr. Walsingham. "A shepherdess should always wear brown holland, with ribbons and patches, powder and paint; and a crook beautifully wreathed with green ribbons." "Gentlemen," I said to my followers, "this is my old friend, Mr. Harry Temple, of Wootton Hampstead, Kent, whom you will, I doubt not, welcome among you. But what punishment shall be inflicted upon him for forgetting a lady's face?" This gave rise to a dispute on an abstract point of gallantry. One held that under no circumstances, and during no time of absence, however prolonged, should a gentleman forget the face of his mistress; another, that if the lady changed, say from a child to a woman, the forgetfulness of her face must not be charged as a crime. We argued the point with great solemnity. Nancy gave it as her opinion that the rest of a woman's face might be forgotten, but not the eyes, because they never change. Mr. Walsingham combated this opinion. He said that the eyes of ladies change when they marry. "What change?" I asked. "The eyes of a woman who is fancy free," said he gravely, "are like stars: when she marries, they are planets."