“Ah,” he said, with the air of one who pats himself on the back for his own perspicacity. “You didn’t introduce yourself a moment ago, as you may remember, but I was sure you were Music.”
“Why were you?” she asked.
“Because you look it.”
“Harmony or discord?” she queried, with the bright little laugh remindful of the bird songs.
“How can you ask! Celestial harmony—no less!” It was only a matter of a hundred yards, between the oak-tree target and the firing-stand, but they were getting on very well, indeed.
“Following that line of reasoning, you might say that Miss Longstreet looks picturesque, I suppose? And Miss Farron——”
“Miss Farron is far too charming to warrant any allusion to figures, mathematical or other,” he retorted lightly.
“And how about Professor Billy?”
Tregarvon chuckled. “Is that what you call him? I’m glad I have a Christian name that can’t very well be nicked entirely out of all resemblance to the original. Which reminds me: have I got to call you ‘Miss Richardia’? It sounds awfully formal—don’t you think?—in the mouth of a man who has been familiarly shot at by its possessor.”
“You had better,” she replied calmly. “I am ‘Miss Dick’ in the classrooms; but that is the student body’s privilege. Other people have to earn it.”