“I tell you all this,” she went on, keeping pace to her flying needle, “because I have taken a fancy to you—­on the spot!  I always like, or dislike a person—­on the spot,—­first impressions you know!  Y-e-e-s,” she continued, glancing up at him side-ways, “I like you just as much as I dislike Mr. Cassilis,—­heigho! how I do—­detest that man!  There, now that’s off my mind!”

“And why?” enquired Bellew, smiling.

“Dear me, Mr. Bellew I—­how should I know, only I do,—­and what’s more—­he knows it too!  And how,” she enquired, changing the subject abruptly, “how is your bed,—­comfortable, mm?”

“Very!”

“You sleep well?”

“Like a top!”

“Any complaints, so far?”

“None whatever,” laughed Bellew, shaking his head.

“That is very well.  We have never had a boarder before, and Miss Anthea,—­bless her dear soul! was a little nervous about it.  And here’s the Sergeant!”

“I—­er—­beg your pardon—?” said Bellew.

“The Sergeant!” repeated Miss Priscilla, with a prim little nod, “Sergeant Appleby, late of the Nineteenth Hussars,—­a soldier every inch of him, Mr. Bellew,—­with one arm—­over there by the peaches.”  Glancing in the direction she indicated, Bellew observed a tall figure, very straight and upright, clad in a tight-fitting blue coat, with extremely tight trousers strapped beneath the insteps, and with a hat balanced upon his close-cropped, grizzled head at a perfectly impossible angle for any save an ex-cavalry-man.  Now as he stood examining a peach-tree that flourished against the opposite wall, Bellew saw that his right sleeve was empty, sure enough, and was looped across his broad chest.

“The very first thing he will say will be that ‘it is a very fine day,’” nodded Miss Priscilla, stitching away faster than ever, “and the next, that ’the peaches are doing remarkably well,’—­now mark my words, Mr. Bellew.”  As she spoke, the Sergeant wheeled suddenly right about face, and came striding down towards them, jingling imaginary spurs, and with his stick tucked up under his remaining arm, very much as if it had been a sabre.

Being come up to them, the Sergeant raised a stiff arm as though about to salute them, military fashion, but, apparently changing his mind, took off the straw hat instead, and put it on again, more over one ear than ever.

“A particular fine day, Miss Priscilla, for the time o’ the year,” said he.

“Indeed I quite agree with you Sergeant,” returned little Miss Priscilla with a bright nod, and a sly glance at Bellew, as much as to say, “I told you so!” “And the peaches, mam,” continued the Sergeant, “the peaches—­never looked—­better, mam.”  Having said which, he stood looking at nothing in particular, with his one hand resting lightly upon his hip.

“Yes, to be sure, Sergeant,” nodded Miss Priscilla, with another sly look.  “But let me introduce you to Mr. Bellew who is staying at Dapplemere.”  The Sergeant stiffened, once more began a salute, changed his mind, took off his hat instead, and, after looking at it as though not quite sure what to do with it next, clapped it back upon his ear, in imminent danger of falling off, and was done with it.