puce and opal and blood-crimson, and on the spears of sunlight between the cabbage-trees the Red Admiral flickered like an elusive thought. Randal laughed when the little ringed fingers snatched for it, missed, and glanced in light again. Then he flung his cap, and brought the red-and-black flash to earth.
“What a baby you are, Effie! he said. “There’s your plaything.”
She cast herself on the tussock, slipping delicate fingers under the old soiled tweed.
“Stupid boy—what made you do that?”
“I thought you wanted it.”
“Not like this—with a broken wing. You’ve spoilt it!”
She shook it off into the yellow spines, with a childish pout, and Randal’s face was suddenly hard.
“Not the only broken thing I’ve given you, is it? You had better shake me off, too, Effie.”
The sweet dark eyes were full of puzzlement, and the lip dropped.
“Guy—I never can understand you. I didn’t mean anything———”
Randal kicked aside his gorse-knife—he had been cutting brush in the gully beyond—and dropped down beside her.
“Dearest—dear little girl, I know you didn’t. I—sometimes wish you did. Effie, you are such a child, and I—oh, my little, lit-
