She was wearing a very ancient fur cloak belonging to her mother, and she glowed like a rose in the sombre drapery.
Piers stooped to her with hands invitingly outstretched.

"Come along, Pixie! We shan't eat you, and I'll take you home on my shoulder afterwards and see you don't get copped." She uttered a delighted little laugh, and went upwards into his hold like a scrap of floating thistledown.
He lifted her high in his arms, crossed the room with her, and set her down before the old man who still sat at the table, sardonically watching.

"Miss Gracie Lorimer!" he said.
"Hullo, child!" growled Sir Beverley.
Gracie looked at him with sparkling, adventurous eyes.

As she had told Piers, she was not a bit afraid.

After the briefest pause she held out her hand with charming _insouciance_.
"How do you do ?" she said.
Sir Beverley slowly took the hand, and pulled her towards him, gazing at her from under his black brows with a piercing scrutiny that would have terrified a more timid child.
Timidity however was not one of Gracie's weaknesses.