'Will you please to specify of what you were thinking, Miss
Hazel?'
Miss Hazel leaned her head on her hand and reflected.
'I don't believe I can, sir. It was a kind of indefinite fortune,—a whole windfall of queer adventures and people and things.'
Mr. Falkirk at this turned round from his papers and looked at the girl. It was a pretty vision that he saw, and he regarded it somewhat steadily; with a little break of the line of the lips that yet was not merriment.
'My dear,' he said gravely, 'such birds seldom fly alone in a high wind.'
'Well, sir, never mind. Could you be ready by Thursday, Mr.
Falkirk?'
'For what, Miss Hazel?'
'Dear me!' said the girl with a soft breath of impatience. 'To set out, sir. I think I shall go then, and I wanted to know if I am to have the pleasure of your company.'
'Do I look like a fairy tale?' said Mr. Falkirk.
He certainly did not! A keen eye for practical realities, a sober good sense that never lost its foothold of common ground, were further unaccompanied by the graces and charms wherewith fairy tales delight to deck their favourites. Besides which, Mr. Falkirk probably knew what his fortune was already, for the grey was abundantly mingled with the brown in his eyebrows and hair. However, to do Miss Hazel's guardian justice, if his face was not gracious, it was at least in some respects fine. A man always to be respected, easily to be loved, sat there at the table, at his papers.