MISS MATFIELD WONDERS 211

Miss Sellers' voice had dropped to a whisper. "A
crool look/' she repeated, her eyes enormous. "An* a
reel nasty tone of voice he's got too, sometimes. And
then I think, 'Well, I don't like you, and I wouldn't like
to cross your path, that I wouldn't/ And then the next
time, he's as nice as anything. But I don't like him as
much as I like Mr. Dersingham. Do you, Miss Mat-
field? Mr. Dersingham's a reel gentleman, isn't he? I
like him best."

"I don't/' This came in a hoarse whisper. It was
from Stanley, who, free from his letter-copying for a
minute, had quietly joined them.

"Now who asked you your opinion?" Miss Sellers
demanded. "You go away."

"I like Mr. Golspie best," said Stanley, contriving to
introduce an enthusiastic note into his hoarse whisper.
"An" I'll tell you why. He's what they call a man's man.
I'll bet he's had advenshers."

"You an' your advenshers!" Miss Sellers was very
contemptuous. "What d'you know about it?"

"I've heard things, I have," said Stanley, very slowly
and impressively.

"What have you heard?"

"Shan't tell you."

"No, because you've got nothing to tell. You run
away and get your work done, little boy."

"I'm as big as you are/'

"Cheeky! Here, you want to go an* shadder a few
manners the next time you go shaddering," Miss Sellers
jeered, singling out, with feminine swiftness and
accuracy, the weak joint in the other's armour.

"Huh! Shan't learn 'em from you."

"Oh, be quiet, the pair of you," tried Miss Matfield,