"You have lost your cape though," said their preserver.
"Better than losing my life. I have to thank you for that. Hush, Dicky," and she calmed the nervous child.
"I think you did most of the saving," said the young man admiringly. "I came in at the finish, so I must decline the glory. I never saw a neater and pluckier thing."
"Oh, Cousin Gerald," sobbed Dicky, "I'm glad the bull didn't gore you. You were just like a torry-door of Spain. I've seen them in pictures."
"Am I to take that as a compliment, Dicky? What do you say, Miss Crane?"
"Oh, I think it is a very great compliment, Mr. Arkel."
The young man—he was a handsome, fair-haired young fellow in a grey tweed suit—looked at her with a quizzical expression.
"You know my name, and I know yours. I think we can dispense with further formalities under the circumstances—or perhaps you will look after the social observances, Dicky, and introduce me to this lady."
Dicky did so most gravely.
"Miss Crane, this is Uncle Barton's nephew, Cousin Gerald; Cousin Gerald, this is my new governess, Miss Crane."