l6o The Real Charlotte. 



little chap, but not the sort of person to develop a nascent 

 intellectuality, thought this sage of seven-and twenty. 



"Why did you come out here by yourself?" he said to 

 her, some httle time after they had left the others. 



" And why shouldn't I ? " answered Francie, with the 

 pertness that seldom failed her, even when, as on this morn- 

 ing, she felt a little uninterested in every subject except one. 



" Because it gave us the trouble of coming out to look 

 for you." 



" To see I didn't get into mischief, I suppose ! *' 



** That hadn't occurred to me. Do you always get into 

 mischief when you go out by yourself?" 



" I would if I thought you were coming out to stop me ! " 



** But why should I want to stop you ? " asked Christopher, 

 aware that this class of conversation was of a very undevelop- 

 ing character, but feeling unable to better it. 



*' Oh, I don't know ; I think everyone's always wanting 

 to stop me," repHed Francie with a cheerful laugh ; " I 

 declare I think it's impossible for me to do anything right." 



*' Well, you don't seem to mind it very much," said 

 Christopher, the thought of how like she was to a typical 

 " June " in a Christmas Number striking him for the second 

 time ; " but perhaps that's because you're used to it." 



" Oh, then, I can tell you I am used to it, but, indeed, I 

 don't like it any better for that." 



There was a pause after this. They scrambled over the 

 sharp loose rocks, and between the stunted fir-trees of the 

 lake shore, until they gained a comparatively level tongue 

 of sandy gravel, on which the sinuous line of dead rushes 

 showed how high the fretful waves had thrust themselves in 

 winter. A glistening bay intervened between this point 

 and the promontory of Bruff, a bay dotted with the humped 

 backs of the rocks in the summer shallows, and striped with 

 dark green beds of rushes, among which the bald coots 

 dodged in and out with shrill metaUic chirpings. Outside 

 Bruff Point the lake spread broad and mild, turned to a 

 translucent lavender grey by an idly-drifting cloud ; the slow 

 curve of the shore was followed by the woods, till the hay 

 fields of Lismoyle showed faintly beyond them, and, further 

 on, the rival towers of church and chapel gave a finish to 

 the landscape that not even conventionality could deprive 



