CHAPTER IV.
YOUTH AT THE PROW.
"And then, old fellow," went on Sir Anthony's letter to Jack Leslie, of the Blues, his particular chum, "I stood staring, with my eyes watering and a little scratch on my nose bleeding where the old rooster—for a rooster it was—struck me with his spurs as he flew. He might have knocked out my eye, the brute! The second missile (an invention they call a sun-bonnet, I believe, made of pink calico and horribly stiffened) lay crumpled at my feet. And there in front of me stood the culprit herself, looking half-ashamed and half-inclined to follow the example of the other sun-bonnet which had buried itself in a big chair at the end of the room, and made scarcely a pretence of stifling its peals of laughter. I felt no end of a ninny I can tell you, especially as the owner of the first sun-bonnet was by long chalks the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen.
"I'm no good at describing a girl's charms, but even at the first glance her beautiful violet eyes struck me. Blue eyes and black lashes and eyebrows—it is a thing happens over here sometimes, they tell me. Then, though she'd been rushing about after the ancient barnyard fowl who was to have graced the table in my honour, she had no more colour than a white rose; and yet she looked the picture of health and life—so different from fine ladies. This was Miss Pamela—Pam for short—as I discovered later. To finish her description, her charming head is covered with a mass of short black curls. She had a very shabby frock on, which didn't take a bit from her loveliness. I couldn't help wondering what the mater would have thought if she could have seen her. She would surely have called her 'a young woman,' with that superb contempt of hers.
"However, the breeding tells. Nothing could have been finer than the little air with which she pulled herself together, and said, as if it were an every-day thing to blind and maim your visitors:
"'You must be Sir Anthony Trevithick. I am so sorry. That wretched fowl flew in through the open window, and we've been three-quarters of an hour chasing him round. It was so unfortunate his flying out just at that moment, and still more unfortunate that I should have flung my bonnet after him. But you've no idea how he had aggravated us.'
"I assure you the mater couldn't have done it better, if one could conceivably imagine the mater under such circumstances.
"I could think of nothing to do but to pick up the bonnet and hand it to her, muttering some idiocy about it not mattering a bit. While this was going on the laughter in the chair was dying off in sobs of enjoyment.
"But before we could get any further Mr. Graydon himself made his appearance. I suppose something about my looks struck him—for a cucumber wasn't in it for coolness with Miss Pam—because he said, 'Why, bless me, Sir Anthony! what's the matter? What's the matter, Pam? Why, Sir Anthony, your nose is bleeding!'