It is true that she did sometimes wonder (with Burnett Major, perhaps) whether she had not inherited also from the prizefighter something less desirable than his physique--a discontented and ill-conditioned nature. But that did not mend matters. It merely made her, if it did anything at all, distrustful of herself. And as this is the story of Louie, virtues and vices and all, her moods must go down with the rest. At any rate, rolled in her blanket at the foot of the hill, she could feel the night wind on her face, and see the stars, and in her fancy deride or boast of her parentage to her heart's content. On the afternoon following that on which she had fetched the boards from the carpenter's shed she went to the shed again, this time for a couple of tent-pegs and a piece of cord for the better securing of her blankets. The vacant young Tanagra was still there. But this time he was not quite so vacant. He had had leisure to think of quite a number of words. "I say," he said, lifting slow and bashful eyes of the colour of blue porcelain to Louie, "I've been thinking. Haven't I seen you before?" "Yes. Yesterday," said Louie shortly. He had had the bad luck to catch her at her brooding. But he did not seem to notice her curtness. "No, but I mean--before----" "When?" "Isn't--isn't your name Chaffinger?" He almost blushed. "No." "Oh!" Then she relented a little. "I was called Chaffinger for a time. My name's Causton. I suppose yours is Chesson, or you'd hardly be here?" "Chesson? Why Chesson? No. Mine's Lovenant-Smith--Roy Lovenant-Smith." "Oh!" said Louie. "Then you're right. We have met before, at Mallard Bois." Roy Lovenant-Smith appeared to be so relieved at being rid of a perplexity that he didn't much care if they never met again. "I thought we had," he said mildly. "You were Louie Chaffinger then. I knew you were." "But what," Louie asked, "are you doing here?" He radiated simplicity. "That centre-board, didn't I tell you? Izzard would make me go halves in the rotten old thing; just look at her; hardly a shroud on the port side, and the centre-board was hitched up with a piece of old rope instead of a chain and down it came the other tea-time. It's the cabin table as well as the centre-board, you see, and the whole thing shut up-just like that----" He set the inner edges of his hands together and then closed his palms with a slap. "All the tea--jam and all the lot," he said. He amused Louie. "That was a pity," she said demurely. "Wasn't it? But I say, I shall be catching it. I might use the shed, aunt said, but she told me it was a fixed Rule about men, unless you're a gardener, of course----" ("An obedient nephew," Louie thought.) "Then I must go at once," she added. "Well, I shouldn't like to get you into a row too," said Roy Lovenant-Smith ingenuously. "No," Louie agreed, more demurely still. "They have to be strict, you know." "Rather!" said Roy Lovenant-Smith heartily. And Louie left him.