Now this young lady being Mr. Falkirk's special aversion, he deigned no reply to her impertinence; confronting her instead with an undeclarative face and manner of calm repression. 'What is on the carpet?' said a new comer. 'Now whatever possessed you to come on it?' said Miss Fisher with a pout. 'We were just going to scare up a German!' 'Perhaps I can be of some slight assistance.' Kitty Fisher clapped him affectionately on the shoulder. 'Thanks—my dear fellow,' she said. 'We all know what your "slight assistance" amounts to in such cases. Too mean of you to come! And Hazel has not had one bit of fun yet this whole day.' 'What have you been doing to her?' 'It's a wicked shame,' Kitty went on. 'And Sir Henry coming and everybody. I was going to take out Mr. Falkirk—it's leap year, you know; and he might be short of partners,' said Miss Fisher, prudently dropping her voice at this point. 'What is a shame, if you please?' 'For you to walk in and play marplot.' 'Let me walk you off instead, and be useful. You can explain to me your plans as we go.' 'I can help you to find the brown eyes, poor things!' said Kitty. 'Well, they do lots of mischief when you're not by,—that's one comfort.' Through the bright woodland, from group to group of chestnutters, the gentleman and the young lady went. The scene was pretty and lively, but Wych Hazel was not with any of the groups; having in fact escaped from her admirers into the deeper shadow of trees that did not bear chestnuts. At last Miss Fisher's curiosity waked up. Bidding her companion keep watch where he was, in a shadowy corner of red oaks and purple ashes, she ran off, "to beat the bush," as she said; and hardly were her footsteps out of hearing, before lighter ones came through the wood, and Hazel's white dress gleamed out among the colours. She was walking slowly, quite alone, the brilliant fingers twisted together in some knot of a puzzle; but even as Rollo looked from his corner still other steps were heard, and another lady and another gentleman came on the scene. 'O here she is!' cried Miss Burr. 'Et toute seule—by all that's lucky. Here fair lady, I've brought you an escort. I knew Sir Henry Crofton might come without being invited.' And Miss Burr, conscious that she had done a bright thing, walked off to find an escort for herself. Then ensued a peculiar little scene. The gentleman advanced eagerly, holding out his hand. And Wych Hazel, taking not the least seeming notice, stopped short in her walk, and leaning back against one of the red oaks began to fit on her gloves with the utmost deliberation. 'Sir Henry Crofton knew,' she remarked, 'that it was the only possible way in which he could come.' 'You have not forgiven me!' said the young man with much mortification. 'No,' said Wych Hazel. 'I think I have not.'