The Real Charlotte, 91 



for his sister's society, and his lack of interest in the 

 majority of manly occupations, from hunting to music halls, 

 has small claim to respect or admiration. The invertebrate- 

 ness of his character seemed to be expressed in his attitude, 

 as he lay, supine, under the birch trees, with the grass mak- 

 ing a luxurious couch for his lazy limbs, and the faint 

 breeze just stirring about him. His sleep was not deep 

 enough to still the breath of summer in his ears, but it had 

 quieted the jabber of the magpie to a distant purring, and 

 he was fast falling into the abyss of unconsciousness, when 

 a gentle, regular sound made itself felt, the fall of a footstep 

 and the brushing of a skirt through the grass. He lay very 

 still, and cherished an ungenial hope that the white-stemmed 

 birches might mercifully screen him from the invader. The 

 step came nearer, and something in its solidity and deter- 

 mination gave Christopher a guess as to whose it was, that 

 was speedily made certainty by a call that jarred all the 

 sleepy enchantment of the glade. 



" Fran-cie ! " 



Christopher shrank lower behind a mossy stone, and 

 wildly hoped that his unconcealable white flannels might be 

 mistaken for the stem of a fallen birch. 



" Fran-cie ! " 



It had come nearer, and Christopher anticipated the 

 inevitable discovery by getting up and speaking. 



" I'm afraid she's not here. Miss Mullen. She has not 

 been here for half an hcur at least." He did not feel bound 

 to add that when he first sat down by the pool, he had 

 heard Miss Fitzpatrick's and Mr. Hawkins' voices in high 

 and agreeable altercation on the opposite side of the island 

 to that taken by the rest of the party. 



The asperity that had been discernible in Miss Mullen's 

 summons to her cousin vanished at once. 



" My goodness me ! Mr. Dysart ! To think of your 

 being here all the time, ' Far from the madding crowd's 

 ignoble strife ! ' Here I am hunting for that naughty girl 

 to tell her to come and help to make tea, instead of letting 

 your poor sister have all the trouble by herself." 



Charlotte was rather out of breath, and looked hot and 

 annoved, in spite of the smile with which she lubricated her 

 remark. 



