"But Lily is not grown up," I say with dignity. "Lily is only ten."
"And you?"
"I am a great age," I say, nodding, "but I shall not tell you how much."
"Are you not tired?" he asks. "Would you not like to sit down?" I look round; the ring is broken up; the boys and girls are strolling about; Mrs. Floyd has vanished.
"I don't mind," I say; "but we are going in to tea soon." We sit down under the beech tree and look at each other. "I know who you are," I say, smiling. "You are young Mr. Tempest."
"And you are little Miss Adair," he says.
"How did you know that?"
"My father knows your father; besides, I sit opposite you in church."
"Do you?" I ask with some dismay. Can he have marked any of Jack's and my ungodly tricks during sermon time? For at St. Swithin's we sit behind papa, not beside him.
"Is that your eldest brother who sits beside you?"
"Yes," I say proudly, "that is Jack. There is nobody like him!"
"Is he here?" asks the young man, looking round.
"No, he would not come. You see he is fifteen, and he likes boys. He used to be satisfied with me, but now . . . ." A tear trickles down my nose, and I turn my head away. It is a very, very sore subject with me. "It is all such a mistake," I say, rubbing my nose and eyes hard, "that I was not a boy, you know. He and I would have been together always, whereas now——— It is very hard!"
"Very," says the young man, and indeed he seems to understand. "Who is that pretty little girl yonder? She looks like a crumpled pink rose."
