"With much pleasure," he answered, rising from the rock whereon, as he
spoke about his picture, he had again seated himself. He was a fine-built,
black-bearded, sunburnt fellow, with clear gray eyes notwithstanding, a
rather Roman nose, and good features generally. But there was an air of
suppression, if not of sadness, about him, however, did not in the least
interfere with the manliness of his countenance, or of its expression.

"But," I said, "how am I to effect an introduction, seeing I do not yet
know your name."

I had had to keep a sharp look-out on myself lest I should call him Mr.
Niceboots. He smiled very graciously and replied,

"My name is Percivale--Charles Percivale."

"A descendant of Sir Percivale of King Arthur's Round Table?"

"I cannot count quite so far back," he answered, "as that--not quite to the
Conquest," he added, with a slight deepening of his sunburnt hue. "I do
come of a fighting race, but I cannot claim Sir Percivale."

We were now walking along the edge of the still retreating waves towards
the group upon the sands, Mr. Percivale and I foremost, and Wynnie
lingering behind.

"O, do look here papa!" she cried, from some little distance.

We turned and saw her gazing at something on the sand at her feet.
Hastening back, we found it to be a little narrow line of foam-bubbles,