wrote, and, if the truth be told, had a fair vision floating before his
eyes--a girl of whom Lottie had reminded him by sheer force of contrast.
Still, he liked Lottie in her way. He was young enough to enjoy the easy
sense of patronage and superiority which made the words flow so pleasantly
from his pen. Never had Lottie seemed to him so utterly a child as
immediately after his talk with her boy-friend.

"Here are some books," said the hurrying pen, "which I think you will like
if your eye is not so bad as to prevent your reading. Robin was keeping his
disconsolate watch close by, as you foretold, and asked anxiously after
you, so I gave him your message and dismissed him. He especially charged me
to send you the enclosed--knife I believe he called it: it looks to me like
a whole armory of deadly weapons--which he seemed to think would be a
comfort to you in your affliction. I sincerely hope it may prove so. I was
very civil to him, remembering that I was your ambassador; but if he isn't
a little less rough with you in future, I shall be tempted to adopt Mr.
Blake's plan if I happen to meet your friend again. You really mustn't let
him damage those eyes of yours in this reckless fashion. Mrs. Blake was
nearly heartbroken this morning."

He sent his parcel off, and speedily ceased to think of it. And Lottie
herself might have done the same, not caring much for his books, but for
four little words--"those eyes of yours." Had Percival written "your eyes,"
it would have meant nothing, but "those eyes of yours" implied notice--nay,
admiration. Again and again she looked at the thick paper, with the crest
at the top and the vigorous lines of writing below; and again and again the
four words, "those eyes of yours," seemed to spring into ever-clearer
prominence. She hid the letter away with a sudden comprehension of the
roughness of her pencil scrawl which it answered, and began to take pride
in her looks when they least deserved it. Only a day or two before she had