It is clear that he is unaware of there being any stranger present, for his hat is on his head, his hands are in his pockets, and he only stops whistling to observe: "Well, Nancy! any more aborigines ?" then he breaks suddenly off, and we all grow red--he himself beaming of as lively a scarlet as the new tunic that he tried on last night.

I make a hurried and confused presentation, in which I manage to slur over into unintelligibility and utter doubtfulness the names of the two people made known to one another.
"One more aborigine, you see!" says Mrs.Huntley, to my surprise--after the experience I have had of her fine taste in monosyllables--beginning the conversation.

I look at her with a little wonder.

Her voice is quite as low as ever, but there is an accent of playfulness in it; and on her face a sparkle of _esprit_, whose possible existence I had not conjectured.

Certainly, she showed no symptom of playfulness or _esprit_ during our late talk.