As he spoke, Brooking pointed to a dainty affair composed of some complicated combination of white straw and blue ribbons, from which peered inquisitively forth a bunch of pink posies. This charming creation hung pendant by the strings from a nail in the wall behind the desk, making plain that the school-mistress intended to return.
"True, Brooking," said Sir Percival, and taking it down he pressed one of the ribbons to his lips. "Almost as sweet and pretty as its owner. Egad, how tuned in harmony with her own charm are the belongings of a dainty and tasteful woman. Like the scientists of the Museum who from a bone construct a skeleton, so could I from this little hat draw the portrait of the lady whom it might become."
"You are dangerously near sentimentality," said Brooking, as though warning the baronet of peril unperceived.
Sir Percival laughed.
"I sometimes forget that I am no longer a lad of two-and-twenty, though Heaven knows I lack not reminders. Impossible as it seems, it is nevertheless true that I found a gray hair this morning. A silver messenger from approaching Age. I plucked the rascally thing out and breathed more freely when I was rid of it."
A knock sounded on the door by which the pair had entered, and Sir Percival, peeking slyly through a convenient window, gave an exclamation of dismay.
"Pluck me, Brooking, if it is not old Robin Dyke himself. Devil take the old bore!"
Brooking pointed to the other exit.
"Perhaps we can escape this way."
Sir Percival, followed by his lordship, tiptoed across the room, but before they reached the other doorway, Mr. Dyke, weary of waiting, entered briskly, and their plan of evasion was abandoned as hastily as it had been adopted.