R. Browning.

The wonder would have been if he had not fallen in love with her,
for a more fascinating girl I never saw. She had only just returned
from school at Compiegne, and was not yet out; her charming
freshness was unsullied; she had all the simplicity and
straightforwardness of unspoilt, unsophisticated girlhood. I well
remember our first sight of her. We had been invited for a
fortnight's yachting by Calverley of Exeter. His father, Sir John
Calverley, had a sailing yacht, and some guests having disappointed
him at the last minute, he gave his son carte blanche as to who he
should bring to fill the vacant berths.

So we three travelled down to Southampton together one hot summer
day, and were rowed out to the Aurora, an uncommonly neat little
schooner which lay in that over-rated and frequently odoriferous
roadstead, Southampton Water. However, I admit that on that
evening--the tide being high--the place looked remarkably pretty;
the level rays of the setting sun turned the water to gold; a soft
luminous haze hung over the town and the shipping, and by a stretch
of imagination one might have thought the view almost Venetian.
Derrick's perfect content was only marred by his shyness. I knew
that he dreaded reaching the Aurora; and sure enough, as we stepped
on to the exquisitely white deck and caught sight of the little
group of guests, I saw him retreat into his crab-shell of silent
reserve. Sir John, who made a very pleasant host, introduced us to
the other visitors--Lord Probyn and his wife and their niece, Miss
Freda Merrifield. Lady Probyn was Sir John's sister, and also the
sister of Miss Merrifield's mother; so that it was almost a family
party, and by no means a formidable gathering. Lady Probyn played