yself. Supposed I should be satisfied when
I'd broken Lottie's neck. Told me I'd better not show my face there again."

"Well," said Percival, "you couldn't expect Mrs. Blake to be particularly
delighted with your afternoon's work. And, Wingfield, though I was
especially to tell you that you were not to vex yourself about it, you
really ought to be more careful. Knocking a young lady's eye half out--"

"Young lady!" in a tone of intense scorn. "Lottie isn't a _young lady_."

"Oh! isn't she?" said Percival.

"I should think not, indeed!" And Robin eyed the big young man who was
laughing at him as if he meditated wiping out the insult to Lottie then and
there. But even with Jack, his sturdy satellite, to help, it was not to be
thought of. "She's a brick!" said Cock Robin, half to himself.

"No doubt," said Percival. "But, as I was saying, it isn't exactly the way
to treat her.--At least--I don't know: upon my word, I don't know," he
soliloquized. "Judging by most women's novels, from _Jane Eyre_ downward,
the taste for muscular bullies prevails. Robin may be the coming hero--who
knows?--and courtship commencing with a black eye the future
fashion.--Well, Robin, any answer?"

"Tell her I hope she'll soon be all right. Shall you see her?"

"I can see that she gets any message you want to send."

Robin groped among his treasures: "Look here: I brought away her knife that
afternoon. She lent it me. She'd better have it--it's got four blades--she
may want it, perhaps."

Percival dropped the formidable instrument carelessly into his pocket: "She
shall have it. And, Robin, you'd better not be hanging about here: Lottie
says so. You'll only vex Mrs. Blake."

"All right!" said the boy, and went off, with Jack after him.

Percival, who was staying in the neighborhood, went straight home, tied up
a parcel of books he thought might amuse Lottie in her imprisonment, and
wrote a note to go with them. He was whistling softly to himself as he
wrote, and, if the truth be told, had a fair vision floating before his
eyes--a girl of whom Lottie had reminded him by sheer force of contrast.
Still, he liked Lottie in her way. He was young enough to enjoy the easy
sense of patronage and superiority which made the words flow so pleasantly
from his pen. Never had Lottie seemed to him so utterly a child as
immediately after his talk with her boy-friend.

"Here are some books," said the hurrying pen, "which I think you will like
if your