"Do not call me Agatha," she said impetuously. "What shall I call you,
then?"

"You need not address me at all."

"I need, and will. Don't be ill-natured."

"But I don't know you. I wonder at your--" she hesitated at the word
which occurred to her, but, being unable to think of a better one, used
it--"at your cheek."

He laughed, and she watched him take a couple of turns with the roller.
Presently, refreshing himself by a look at her, he caught her looking
at him, and smiled. His smile was commonplace in comparison with the
one she gave him in return, in which her eyes, her teeth, and the golden
grain in her complexion seemed to flash simultaneously. He stopped
rolling immediately, and rested his chin on the handle of the roller.

"If you neglect your work," said she maliciously, "you won't have the
grass ready when the people come."

"What people?" he said, taken aback.

"Oh, lots of people. Most likely some who know you. There are visitors
coming from London: my guardian, my guardianess, their daughter, my
mother, and about a hundred more."

"Four in all. What are they coming for? To see you?"

"To take me away," she replied, watching for signs of disappointment on