She came occasionally to tea at the Old Manor. The boys would take her then for a walk in the grounds--sometimes further afield. Percival, never free from the wonder she caused in him, always had much concern for her on these occasions. He constantly inquired if they were not going too far for her; he would always propose they should turn back if they came to a muddy lane. It happened once that a lane desperate in mud could not be avoided. He showed her the drier path against the hedge, but this was so narrow as to require some balancing to keep it. "You must hold my hand," he said. To shake hands with her had always been a matter of some diffidence. Now he was to support her while she picked her way. He took her little gloved hand in his. It lay warmly within his grasp; and concerned lest he should hurt so delicate a thing, he let it rest in his palm, passing his fingers about her wrist where there was bone to feel. "Tell me if I hurt you," he said. "I'm trying not to--and not to splash"--and he trod carefully, above his boot soles in the mire. She told him: "You're not, thank you. These lanes are wretched. I hate them." Much of her weight was on him. There was a perfume about her person, and it came to him pleasantly: he had never walked so close to her before. The soft plait of her hair was about her further shoulder, hanging down her breast. With her free hand she held her skirt raised and closely against her legs for fear of brambles in the hedge. Percival looked at her daintily-shod feet, picking their way, and he gave a funny little laugh. "What are you laughing at?" she asked him. "My boots--and yours. You must have funny little feet." She half withdrew her hand. "I think you are the rudest boy I have ever met," she said. "Oh, I didn't mean to be rude," Percival declared. She told him in her precise way: "You are rude, although you are nice in some ways. I think I have never known any one stare at me so frightfully as you stare. I have seen you often staring." Percival gave for explanation: "If I stare, it's because I've never seen any one like you." She gave the slightest toss of her chin. He went on: "Do you know what I call you? I call you Snow-White-and-Rose-Red." He saw the blush shades on her cheek very slightly darken. It sounded a pleasant thing to be called. But she said: "It sounds stupid; what is it?" "From a fairy tale. Don't you know it?" "I don't care about reading." "What do you like doing best of all?" "I think I like going for drives--and that;" she half slipped and added, "I simply hate this." "I've got you perfectly safe," Percival assured her.