Mayne looked as desired, and saw the light figure skimming about the court, and noted the remarkable contrast between her brown face and arms, and snow white linen frock; also the uncovered masses of rough reddish hair that now and then caught a gleam of gold.
"No beauty, poor darling, is she?" murmured Mrs. Ffinch.
"If she would only give her complexion a chance!"
"She won't. She is making up now for years of strict hat and glove wearing; and doesn't bother about her personal appearance; all she really cares for are—her father, and Sam the bull terrier. She is also rather devoted to me." A pause. "Well, Captain Mayne," and she laughed, "I'm waiting for you to say, 'I'm not surprised at that!'"
He coloured a little, laughed too, and said:
"Somehow I don't fancy such a compliment would go down up here."
"You are right! We are a simple, and primitive community. If you will dispose of my glass, I'll make you out a social A B C."
"All right," he agreed, as he resumed his seat.
"There is my husband, aged fifty-five, a hard-working enthusiast, who lives for coffee, and sales; sales, and coffee. Ted Dawson too—though he is a bit of a boor—is also an enthusiast, and will also be rich by the time he is fifty—unless he finds gold."
"Gold," repeated Mayne. "What—up here!"