'I thought you might have taken your holidays sometimes in that
direction.'

'No. We used to go to a seaside place in Lincolnshire called
Cleethorpes. I suppose you never heard of it?'

'I think not.'

Wilfrid continued to pluck heather, and let his eyes catch a glimpse of
her face now and then. Miss Hood was a year younger than himself, and
had well outgrown girlishness. She was of very slight build, looked
indeed rather frail; but her face, though lacking colour, had the
firmness of health. It was very broad at the forehead, and tapered down
into narrowness; the eyes seemed set at an unusual distance from each
other, though the nose was thin and of perfect form, its profile making
but a slight angle away from the line of the brows. Her lips were large,
but finely curved; the chin was prominent, the throat long. She had warm
brown hair.

Few would at first sight have called her face beautiful, but none could
deny the beauty of her hands. Ungloved at present, they lay on the open
pages of the book, unsurpassable for delicate loveliness. When he did
not venture to look higher, Wilfrid let his eyes feed on the turn of the
wrist, the faint blue lines and sinuous muscles, the pencilling about
the finger-joints, the delicate white and pink nails.

Miss Hood was habitually silent when in the company of others than the
children. When she replied to a question it was without timidity, but in
few, well-chosen words. Yet her manner did not lack cheerfulness; she