p. 81 Nelly Crayshaw was talking saucily with Hawkstone as we came down to the quay. I noticed Barton shaking hands with her, and whispering a few words as we got into the boat; and I noticed also a certain sheepish, and rather sulky look upon Hawkstone’s face, as he did so; and if I was not mistaken, my learned friend Glenville let something very like an oath escape him as he shouted: “Barton, Barton, come along; we are all waiting for you!” I do not think Nelly could be called a beauty. The face was too flat, the mouth was too large, and the colour of the cheeks was too brilliant. Yet she was p. 82very charming. The blue of her eyes underneath dark eyelashes and eyebrows was—well—heavenly. The whole face beamed and glowed through masses of brown hair, which were arranged in a somewhat disorderly manner, and yet with an evident eye to effect. The aspect was frank and good-humoured, though somewhat soft and sensuous; and the form, though full, was not without elegance, and showed both strength and agility. No one could pass by her without being arrested by her appearance, but we used to quarrel very much as to her claims to be called a “clipper,” or a “stunner,” or whatever was the word in use among us to express our ideal. p. 82 Barton jumped into the boat and away we went, Thornton steering, Mrs. Bagshaw, her daughter, and the Misses Delamere in the stern, Barton stroke, myself three, Glenville two, and Hawkstone bow—a very fine crew, let me tell you, for we all knew how to handle an oar,—especially in smooth water. And so we passed in front of the parade, waving our pocket handkerchiefs in answer to those which fluttered on the shore, and rowing away into the wide sea. Mrs. Bagshaw, who was an excellent musician, and her daughter, who had a lovely voice, sang duets and songs for our amusement; and, with the aid of the two Misses Delamere, made up some tolerable glees and choruses, in the latter of which we all joined at intervals, to the confusion of the whole effect,—of the singing in point of tune, and of the rowing in point of time. As we were rounding Horn Point, Thornton said to Mrs. Bagshaw, “Do you know, there are some such splendid ferns grow in a little ravine you can see there p. 83on the side of that hill. Do let us land and get some.” p. 83 “What do you want ferns for?” asked I, innocently. “Silence in the boat, three,” cried Glenville. “What a hard-hearted monster you must be!” he whispered in my
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