the white line of the breakers and heard the familiar clatter
of the servants in the kitchen below, she was a fool to be so
idiotically nervous, like a fine smelling-salts lady. What could happen
to her? What if she did not like this very forward young man? He was a
guest of her Uncle Julian's--he might even be his friend. Very likely he
meant no harm, and she would treat him just like anybody else. Yes, that
would be best.

"Ah," said the young man, leaning over her as she stood looking out, "if
only I had been at that cottage on the hills with the officers the other
day! I would have given a thousand guineas for their luck. But now that
I am fortunate enough to have you to myself for a moment, let me say how
much I admire you, Miss Patsy--that is your name, I think?"

Patsy did not answer. She had one hand on the sill and was wondering if
the young man were mad or only drunk--also how long it would take for
her to be safe among the heather.

"You are far too fine and beautiful," he continued, "too bewitching and
original to remain here. You must come to London and take your place
among our reigning beauties. Ah, if only you would trust to one who
adores you, one who would do anything in the world for you--"

"If you mean yourself, will you help me to wind wool?" said Patsy. "I
have a pair of heather-mixture stockings to make for uncle. I promised
to make them for him last Christmas and I only began them yesterday."

"Certainly," said the young man, visibly discountenanced, "but can your
uncle not wait a little longer? I wish to talk to you. It was solely for
that purpose I came here, believe me. I had heard of you from Captain
Laurence, and young Everard, one of the officers of the _Britomart_, in
which I came from Ireland. I was over there governing the island for my
father!"

"Ah, were you?" said Patsy, "well, here is the wool. Can you wind it?
No! Then you had better hold it. That, at least, you can do.--Well,
there you are, remember I shall find you out if you are boasting."

"But I have got much to say to you!" the young man objected.

"I can listen better on my feet. I must be doing something. There--sit
down on that three-legged 'creepie,' and, whatever you do, do not tangle
the wool."

Patsy was resolved that, whatever she might do in the future, she would
now take the matter lightly, and not insult her uncle's guest in the
drawing-room of Abbey Burnfoot.

* * * * *