herself to reply:

"Not if I may call you Philip?"

A look of amused surprise flits over Mr. Roche's features. What a
naive, childlike manner Eleanor possesses!

"Of course," he replies, pulling the small hand through his arm, and
turning out of the public thoroughfare.

"I wonder what you think of me?" asks Eleanor unhesitatingly.

The great sparkling eyes are raised to his with genuine curiosity in
their depths. She is not seeking a compliment; far from it, she really
wants to know, and is waiting for the truth.

He looks from the blue eyes of the girl to the little blue bird's-eye
growing on a bank of clover. She pauses while he stoops to gather the
tiny flower.

"You see this," he says.

"Yes."

"It is only a field blossom blooming unnoticed in this sweet country
atmosphere, yet to me a thousand times fairer than the exotics and
hot-house plants which naturally demand admiration. I love this little
flower," pressing the tender blue to his lips, "because it is wild and
untrained. It appeals to me. It is like you, Eleanor!"

A flush of offence arises to her cheeks.

"Wild!" "Untrained!" the words sting Miss Grebby's pride.

"I did not think you would compare me to a _weed_!" she retorts,
tossing her head proudly.

But Philip will not see he has offended, and continues in the same
strain.

"Don't despise the weeds, Eleanor; they were placed in their
uncultivated beds by Nature's hand, and have as much right to be called
beautiful as any other creation."

He speaks to her authoritatively, and she looks at his strong,
masterful expression with a gradual sense of awe.

"I should not have thought you would care for flowers."

"Why not? Does it seem childish in your eyes to soliloquise over a
wayside 'weed,' as you call it?"

His questions perplex her. She is silent.

"You do not appreciate your beautiful country," he continues, "from
living in it always. Wait till you have tasted the deadly dust of the
town before you curl your lip at a blue bird's-eye, or pass judgment on
the unbroken quiet of sinless Copthorne. Since I came here for rest
and holiday leisure I seem to have grasped the whole history and charm
of the place. It contains endless interest in its Godlike simplicity
to the recluse or the reader. Look what fields for the naturalist or
botanist! Think, too, of an artist here for the first time--what
sketches to be made at sunrise and sunset! You may call your little
world