The equality of companionship was wanting. Boys he knew, and with
them he could hold his own and yet be on affectionate terms. But
girls were strange to him, and in their presence he was shy. With
this lack of understanding of the other sex, grew up a sort of awe of
it. His opportunities of this kind of study were so few that the
view never could become rectified.

And so it was that from his boyhood up to his twelfth year, Harold's
knowledge of girlhood never increased nor did his awe diminish. When
his father had told him all about his visit to Normanstand and of the
invitation which had been extended to him there came first awe, then
doubt, then expectation. Between Harold and his father there was
love and trust and sympathy. The father's married love so soon cut
short found expression towards his child; and between them there had
never been even the shadow of a cloud. When his father told him how
pretty the little Stephen was, how dainty, how sweet, he began to
picture her in his mind's eye and to be bashfully excited over
meeting her.

His first glimpse of Stephen was, he felt, one that he never could
forget. She had made up her mind that she would let Harold see what
she could do. Harold could fly kites and swim and play cricket; she
could not do any of these, but she could ride. Harold should see her
pony, and see her riding him all by herself. And there would be
another pony for Harold, a big, big, big one--she had spoken about
its size herself to Topham, the stud-groom. She had coaxed her daddy
into promising that after lunch she should take Harold riding. To
this end she had made ready early. She had insisted on putting on
the red riding habit which Daddy had given her for her birthday, and
now she stood on the top of the steps all glorious in hunting pink,