The Real Charlotte. 87 



while Lambert stalked back to the party under the 

 trees. 



Its component parts were little altered, saving that Miss 

 Hope-Drummond had, by the ingenious erection of a 

 parasol, isolated herself and Christopher from the others, 

 and that Garry had joined himself to Francie and Hawkins, 

 and was, in company with the latter, engaged in weaving 

 stalks of grass across the insteps of Miss Fitzpatrick's open- 

 worked stockings. 



" Just look at them, Mr. Lambert," Francie called out in 

 cheerful complaint. " They're having a race to see which 

 of them will finish their bit of grass first, and they won't let 

 me stir, though I'm nearly mad with the flies ! " 



She had a waving branch of mountain-ash in her hand ; 

 the big straw hat that she had trimmed for herself with dog- 

 roses the night before was on the back of her head ; her 

 hair clustered about her white temples, and the colour that 

 fighting the flies had brought to her face lent a lovely depth 

 to eyes that had the gaiety and the soullessness of a child. 

 Lambert had forgotten most of his classics since he had left 

 school, and it is probable that even had he remembered 

 them it would not have occurred to him to regard anything 

 in them as applicable to modern times. At all events 

 Francie's dryad-like fitness to her surroundings did not 

 strike him, as it struck another more dispassionate onlooker, 

 when an occasional lift of the Hope-Drummond parasol re- 

 vealed the white-clad figure, with its woody background, to 

 Christopher. 



"It seems to me you're well able to take care of yourself," 

 was Lambert's reply to Miss Fitzpatrick's appeal. He 

 turned his back upon her, and interrupted Charlotte in the 

 middle of a story by asking her if she would walk with him 

 across the island and have a look at the ruins of Ochery 

 Chapel. 



One habit at least of Mr. Lambert's school life remained 

 with him. He was still a proficient at telling tales. 



