r little girls in a
boys' school; and though many of Dr. An Wolf's friends who were mothers
made much of the pretty, quiet boy, and took him to play with their
children, he never seemed to get really intimate with them. The equality
of companionship was wanting. Boys he knew, and with them he could hold
his own and yet be on affectionate terms. But girls were strange to him,
and in their presence he was shy. With this lack of understanding of the
other sex, grew up a sort of awe of it. His opportunities of this kind
of study were so few that the view never could become rectified.

And so it was that from his boyhood up to his twelfth year, Harold's
knowledge of girlhood never increased nor did his awe diminish. When his
father had told him all about his visit to Normanstand and of the
invitation which had been extended to him there came first awe, then
doubt, then expectation. Between Harold and his father there was love
and trust and sympathy. The father's married love so soon cut short
found expression towards his child; and between them there had never been
even the shadow of a cloud. When his father told him how pretty the
little Stephen was, how dainty, how sweet, he began to picture her in his
mind's eye and to be bashfully excited over meeting her.

His first glimpse of Stephen was, he felt, one that he never could
forget. She had made up her mind that she would let Harold see what she
could do. Harold could fly kites and swim and play cricket; she could
not do any of these, but she could ride. Harold should see her pony, and
see her riding him all by herself. And there would be another pony for
Harold, a big, big, big one--she had spoken about its size herself to
Topham, the stud-groom. She had coaxed her daddy into promising that
after lunch she should take Harold riding. To this end she had made
ready early. She had insisted on putting on the red riding habit which
Daddy had given her for her birthday, and now she stood on the top of the
steps all glorious in hunting pink, with the habit held over her arms,
with the tiny hunting-hoots all shiny underneath. She had no hat on, and
her beautiful hair of golden red shone in its glory. But even it was
almost outshone by the joyous flush on her cheeks as she stood waving the
little hand that did not hold Daddy's. She was certainly a picture to
dream of! Her father's eyes lost nothing of her dainty beauty. He was
so proud of her that he almost f