As she spoke, she raised me from my seat by the coat-collar with no apparent effort, and deposited me on the top of a tall bookcase, from which I found myself compelled to prosecute my inquiries.

“Nature has been very bountiful to you—­very much so, I am sure,” I murmured, blinking amiably down upon them through the spectacles I wear to correct a slight tendency to strabismus.  “Still, don’t you—­er—­find that your eyes—­”

I got no further; I thought some of them would have died!

“How about the effect of learning on your looks, now?” I next inquired.  “Is it true that classical and mathematical pursuits are apt to exercise a disfiguring effect?  Not that, with such blooming faces as I see around me—­er—­if you will allow me to say so—­”

But they wouldn’t; on the contrary, I was given to understand, somewhat plainly, that compliments were perhaps ill-advised in that gathering.

“Are you—­hem—­fond of athletics?” was the question I put next from my lofty perch.  “Do you go in for games at all, now?”

“Of course we do!” said the fair-haired girl, affording a practical demonstration of the fact by taking me down and proceeding with her lively companions to engage in the old classical game of pila or [Greek:  sphairistikae], the recreation in which Ulysses long ago found Nausicaa engaged with her maidens.  On this occasion, however, I represented the pila, or ball, and although, in justice to their accuracy of eye and hand, I am bound to admit that I was seldom allowed to touch the ground as I sped swiftly from one to the other, still I felt considerable relief when, on my urgent protestations that I was fully convinced of their proficiency in this amusement, they were prevailed upon to bring this pastime to a close.

“We are breaking the rule of silence in this room,” said the fair-haired one.  “And you do ask such a lot of questions!  But, as you seem curious about our athletic pursuits, come and I will try to show you.”

I crawled after my guide without a word, inwardly reflecting that I was sorry I had spoken, and heartily cursing (though without pronouncing it aloud) the very name of that eminent Physician, Dr. Crichton Browne.  She took me first of all to a field where a bevy of maidens were engaged in a game of hockey.

“We are keen on hockey,” said my guide, and, as she spoke, a girl, flushed and radiant, caught me across the most sensitive part of the shin with a hockey-stick.  No need to ask her if she felt well.  I limped away, and, in another part of the field, saw a comely and robust maiden practising drop-kicks, utterly regardless of the fact that I was looking on.  I received the football in the pit of my stomach, and the name of CRICHTON BROWNE died on my lips.

My guide smiled as she saw that I had taken in the scene that was being enacted under my very nose.