rn of sunstroke and fever, during which his head was shaved.
Consequently his thick brown hair is now at the stage of standing
straight up all over it like a bottle-brush. I know Susie longs to smooth
it down; but that would be a task beyond Susie's utmost efforts. His
brows are very stern and level; and his eyes, deep-set beneath them, of
that gentian blue which makes one think of Alpine heights. They can flash
and gleam, on occasions, and sometimes look almost purple. He wears a
heavy brown moustache, and his jaw and chin are terrifying in their
masterful strength. Yet he smokes an old briar pipe; whistles like a
blackbird; and derives immense amusement from playing up to naughty
Susie's coyness, when the cameo brooch is turned another way. I have seen
his eyes twinkle with fun when Miss Susannah has purposely let fall her
handkerchief, and he has reached out a long arm, picked it up, and
restored it. Whereupon Susie has hastened out, in the wake of her
sisters, in a blushing flutter; Miss Eliza turning to whisper: "Oh, my
dear love! Oh Susannah!" I try, when these things happen, to catch Jim
Airth's merry eye, and share the humour of the situation; but he stolidly
sees the wall through me on all occasions, and would tread heavily on
_my_ poor handkerchief, if I took to dropping it. Miss Murgatroyd tells
me that he is a confirmed hater of feminine beauty; upon which poor Miss
Susannah takes a surreptitious prink into the gold-framed mirror over the
reception-room mantelpiece, and says, plaintively: "Oh, do not say that,
Amelia!" But Amelia _does_ say "that"; and a good deal more!

When first I saw Jim Airth, I thought him a cross between a cowboy and a
guardsman; and I think so still. But what do you suppose he turns out to
be, beside? An author! And, stranger still, he is writing an important
book called _Modern Warfare; its Methods and Requirements_, in which he
is explaining and working out many of Michael's ideas and experiments. He
was right through that border war, and took part in the assault on
Targai. He must have known Michael, intimately.

All this information I have from Miss Murgatroyd. I sometimes sit with
them in the reception-room after dinner, where they wind wool and
knit--endless winding; perpetual knitting! At five minutes to ten, Miss
Murgatroyd says; "Now, my dear Eliza. Now, Susannah," which is the signal
for bestowing all their goods and chattels into black satin work-bags.
Then, at ten o'clock