"Well," he put it to her candidly, "how can I get over the stile when you're sitting on it? How can I, now?" She laughed. "Well, I must get off on my proper side." She did so. "There," she said. He climbed over with great deliberateness, walked a few yards with his piece of timber, and then turned again. "No, you can't see her from here," he said. "She's down under the hill there. I don't think she's worth bothering about, but Izzard says she'll be quite all right with a new stay or two. I suppose I shall have to get 'em." Louie felt a return of her amusement. "Who's Izzard?" she asked. "Izzard?" He looked at her as if she ought to know that. "Izzard's the other chap. Always painting, you know. Painting and mooning about and leaving me to do all the work. He's away there somewhere now." He pointed vaguely across the Channel. "I suppose he'll come back when he's ready. She _is_ an old egg-box!--I say, how's your cousin Eric? And that girl--what's her name--Cynthia, wasn't it?" She didn't know, and told him so; she did not tell him that she didn't care either. He cogitated for a moment, and then said: "But I say--what do you _do_ at this place? Seems funny to me.... Mind yourself--somebody wants to get over----" She had not heard anybody approach. It was Priddy, going down to Mazzicombe. Louie stood aside from the stile. Priddy climbed over it and began to descend the hill. Lovenant-Smith looked at Louie in surprise. "I say," he said, "that's cool! Don't those fellows take their hats off to you?" "No," said Louie. Then she turned her clear grey eyes on him. She had been fairly caught. "Don't they? By Jove!... What are you looking at me like that for?" The rippling laugh with which Louie replied dropped a note. "Guess!" she said. "How can I guess?" he asked, with his innocent and statue-like stare. For answer, Louie glanced to where Priddy's brown bowler hat was disappearing over the edge of the hill. Roy Lovenant-Smith saw--he really saw---- "What?" he exclaimed. "You don't mean to say that that chap will----?" She nodded. He stared. "What, get you into a row for talking to me?" "He may not." "No, but really, joking apart?" he said incredulously. "Perhaps he won't." "Oh, come, I say!... Look here, shall I go back with you and explain?" The innocent! "I don't think I would," said Louie, smothering her laughter. "But--hang it all! I say, I _am_ sorry!" "Oh?" "I mean sorry I've got you into a row, of course," he amended. "Oh, I thought you meant sorry you stopped and talked to me." "Of course not. That is, if it doesn't get you into a row." "And if it did----?" "Well, a chap doesn't like getting people into rows. Look here--that beggar wants talking to!" Louie dropped her eyes. "I've been in rows before," she said. Instantly he cheered up. "Oh, I see! You mean it wouldn't be much?" "Well, your aunt can't exactly skin me." At the recollection of Mrs. Lovenant-Smith she glanced with satisfaction at her hands.