'My dear,' he said gravely, 'such birds seldom fly alone in a
high wind.'

'Well, sir, never mind. Could you be ready by Thursday, Mr.
Falkirk?'

'For what, Miss Hazel?'

'Dear me!' said the girl with a soft breath of impatience. 'To
set out, sir. I think I shall go then, and I wanted to know if
I am to have the pleasure of your company.'

'Do _I_ look like a fairy tale?' said Mr. Falkirk.

He certainly did not! A keen eye for practical realities, a
sober good sense that never lost its foothold of common
ground, were further unaccompanied by the graces and charms
wherewith fairy tales delight to deck their favourites.
Besides which, Mr. Falkirk probably knew what his fortune was
already, for the grey was abundantly mingled with the brown in
his eyebrows and hair. However, to do Miss Hazel's guardian
justice, if his face was not gracious, it was at least in some
respects fine. A man always to be respected, easily to be
loved, sat there at the table, at his papers.

As for the little 'nut-browne mayd' who studied destiny in the
fire, she merely glanced up at him in answer to this appeal;
and with a shake of the head as if fairy tales and he were
indeed hopelessly disconnected, returned to her musings. Then
suddenly burst forth--