Beautiful is the girl of twelve,—who is neither child nor woman, but something between both, something more exquisite than either! Such was the fairy creature presented to Thames Darrell, under the following circumstances. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. She felt that she became more familiar with the floor during the time that he stayed than with any particular person. But it is only fair to warn you that it isn’t expected. ‘What do we do now?’ Gerald took a pace towards the girl.
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