It was quite natural that pretty Cousin Lilias should receive a large share of Master Walter’s attention and admiration. As the time was drawing near when he ought to quit his uncle’s hospitable roof for Oxford, it occurred to him to beg one of the young lady’s top-knots for a keepsake. This was fair enough, since he had spent much more than he should have done upon ribbons and trinkets for her. Happening to find her one evening alone—she was standing in a kind of lobby that had a window, with a balcony outside, overlooking the river—he modestly preferred his important request. At first he played the grown-up cavalier, made her the fairest compliments he could think of, and even indulged in some of the “euphemisms” which were then beginning to become fashionable. But gradually his boyish nature reasserted itself, and forgetting his assumed manliness, he sprang forward and deftly tried to snatch the precious knot of blue ribbon; which, however, Lilias, for fear of surprise, had already taken from its place, and was holding high above her head. And thus for a minute’s space or so they fenced and parried, laughing lightly at their sport, like the children they really were. So absorbed were they in their play that George drew near unnoticed. The young sailor was very proud of his sister, and had never been quite cordial with Walter Grey since he observed his attentions to her. He showed, therefore, more indignation than the occasion seemed to demand. “Sister Lilias, you are too old to play with unmannerly boys,” he remarked in an elder-brotherly tone of reproof. “Our mother is asking for you in the parlour.” Lilias took the hint and vanished; although she did not present herself in the well-lighted parlour until she had cooled her burning cheeks with fresh water. George meanwhile gave Walter the full benefit of his angry scorn. “You poor little scholar boy!” he cried. “Prithee, keep to your Latin grammar, and leave ladies’ top-knots for those who can win them in something better than child’s play. If you had not been all your life tied to your mother’s apron, you would know by this time that my sister Lilias—” “At least I know what you, sir, seem to have forgotten—that your sister is a lady,” interrupted the indignant Walter. “How dare you chide her as an ill-conditioned child? And as for myself, though I have the misfortune to be a scholar, I hope at least to show you that I am a man. Will you fight me, sirrah?” “I’ll put thee in my pocket, and carry thee over the Bridge and along Cheapside, with all the ’prentice lads and serving-lasses to look on and cry Lack-a-day!” returned George, laughing heartily. “Nay, nay,” he added presently, glancing at Walter’s flushed face and lowering brow, “’tis but sailor’s nonsense, Cousin Walter. I mean no harm. There, give me your hand. One must be careful of a girl like Lilias, though.”