brownish, but tinted, and so glowing with health and vigor that,
pricked with a needle, it seemed ready to squirt carnation right into
your eye.

She dazzled Master Compton so that he could do nothing but look at her.

"Well?" said she, smiling.

"Well," replied he, pretending her "well" was not an interrogatory, but
a concise statement, and that he had discharged the whole duty of man
by according a prompt and cheerful consent.

"You begin," said the lady.

"No, you."

"What for?"

"Because--I think--you are the cleverest."

"Good little boy! Well, then, I will. Who are you?"

"I am Compton. Who are you, please?"

"I am Ruperta."

"I never heard that name before."

"No more did I. I think they measured me for it: you live in the great
house there, don't you?"

"Yes, Ruperta."

"Well, then, I live in the little house. It is not very little either.
It's Highmore. I saw you in church one day; is that lady with the hair
your mamma?"

"Yes, Ruperta."

"She is beautiful."

"Isn't she?"

"But mine is so good."

"Mine is very good, too, Ruperta. Wonderfully good."

"I like you, Compton--a little."

"I like you a good deal, Ruperta."

"La, do you? I wonder at that: you are like a cherub, and I am such a
black thing."

"But that is why I like you. Reginald is darker than you, and oh, so
beautiful!"

"Hum!--he is a very bad boy."

"No, he is not."

"Don't tell stories, child; he is. I know all about him. A wicked,
vulgar, bad boy."

"He is not," cried Compton, almost sniveling; but he altered his mind,
and fired up. "You are a naughty, story-telling girl, to say that."

"Bless _me!"_ said Ruperta, coloring high, and tossing her head
haughtily.

"I don't like you _now,_ Ruperta," said Compton, with all the decent
calmness of a settled conviction.

"You don't!" screamed Ruperta. "Then go about your business directly,
and don't never come here again! Scolding _me!_ How dare you?--oh! oh!
oh!" and the little lady went off slowly, with her finger in her eye;
and Master Compton looked rather rueful, as we all do when this
charming sex has recourse to what may be called "liquid reasoning." I
have known the most solid reasons unable to resist it.

However, "mens conscia recti," and, above all, the cowslips, enabled
Compton to resist, and he troubled his head no more about her that day.

But he looked out for her the next day, and she did not come; and that
rather disappointed him.

The nex