"You see she is only a feeble chick," observed Mr. Helstone.
"She looks young—younger than I.—How old are you?" she inquired in a manner that would have been patronizing if it had not been extremely solemn and simple.
"Eighteen years and six months."
"And I am twenty-one."
She said no more. She had now placed her flowers on the table, and was busied in arranging them.
"And St. Athanasius's Creed?" urged the rector. "You believe it all, don't you?"
"I can't remember it quite all. I will give you a nosegay, Mr. Helstone, when I have given your niece one."
She had selected a little bouquet of one brilliant and two or three delicate flowers, relieved by a spray of dark verdure. She tied it with silk from her work-box, and placed it on Caroline's lap; and then she put her hands behind her, and stood bending slightly towards her guest, still regarding her, in the attitude and with something of the aspect of a grave but gallant little cavalier. This temporary expression of face was aided by the style in which she wore her hair, parted on one temple, and brushed in a glossy sweep above the forehead, whence it fell in curls that looked natural, so free were their wavy undulations.
"Are you tired with your walk?" she inquired.
"No—not in the least. It is but a short distance—but a mile."