Emily looked at us, tossed her head, and turned her back on him.
“I’ll go, I’ll go, after supper,” said the father in a comforting tone.
“After supper!” laughed Emily.
George got up and shuffled out. He had to go into the spinney near the house to a well, and being warm disliked turning out.
We had just sat down to supper when Trip rushed barking to the door. “Be quiet,” ordered the father, thinking of those in bed, and he followed the dog.
It was Leslie. He wanted Lettie to go home with him at once. This she refused to do, so he came indoors, and was persuaded to sit down at table. He swallowed a morsel of bread and cheese, and a cup of coffee, talking to Lettie of a garden party which was going to be arranged at Highclose for the following week.
“What is it for then?” interrupted Mr Saxton.
“For?” echoed Leslie.
“Is it for the missionaries, or the unemployed, or something?” explained Mr Saxton.
“It’s a garden-party, not a bazaar,” said Leslie.
“Oh — a private affair. I thought it would be some church matter of your mother’s. She’s very big at the church, isn’t she?”
“She is interested in the church — yes!” said Leslie, then proceeding to explain to Lettie that he was arranging a tennis tournament in which she was to take part. At this point he became aware that he was monopolising the conversation, and turned to George, just as the latter was taking a piece of cheese from his knife with his teeth, asking:
“Do you play tennis, Mr Saxton? — I know Miss Saxton does not.”
“No,” said George, working the piece of cheese into his cheek. “I never learned any ladies’ accomplishments.”
Leslie turned to Emily, who had nervously been pushing two plates over a stain in the cloth, and who was very startled when she found herself addressed.
“My mother would be so glad if you would come to the party, Miss Saxton.”
“I cannot. I shall be at school. Thanks very much.”
“Ah — it’s very good of you,” said the father, beaming. But George smiled contemptuously.
When supper was over Leslie looked at Lettie to inform her that he was ready to go. She, however, refused to see his look, but talked brightly to Mr Saxton, who was delighted. George, flattered, joined in the talk with gusto. Then Leslie’s angry silence began to tell on us all. After a dull lapse, George lifted his head and said to his father:
“Oh, I shouldn’t be surprised if that little red heifer calved tonight.”
Lettie’s eyes flashed with a sparkle of amusement at this thrust.
“No,” assented the father, “I thought so myself.”
After a moment’s silence, George continued deliberately, “I felt her gristles —”
“George!” said Emily sharply.
“We will go,” said Leslie.
George looked up sideways at Lettie and his black eyes were full of sardonic mischief.
“Lend me a shawl, will you, Emily?” said Lettie. “I brought nothing, and I think the wind is cold.”
Emily, however, regretted that she had no shawl, and so Lettie must needs wear a black coat over her summer dress. It fitted so absurdly that we all laughed, but Leslie was very angry that she should appear ludicrous before them. He showed her all the polite attentions possible, fastened the neck of her coat with his pearl scarf-pin, refusing the pin Emily discovered, after some search. Then we sallied forth.
When we were outside, he offered Lettie his arm with an air of injured dignity. She refused it and he began to remonstrate. “I consider you ought to have been home as you promised.”
“Pardon me.” she replied, “but I did not promise.”
“But you knew I was coming,” said he.
“Well — you found me,” she retorted.
“Yes,” he assented. “I did find you; flirting with a common fellow,” he sneered.
“Well,” she returned. “He did — it is true — call a heifer, a heifer.”
“And I should think you liked it,” he said.
“I didn’t mind,” she said, with galling negligence.
“I thought your taste was more refined,” he replied sarcastically. “But I suppose you thought it romantic.”
“Very! Ruddy, dark, and really thrilling eyes,” said she.
“I hate to hear a girl talk rot,” said Leslie. He himself had crisp hair of the “ginger” class.
“But I mean it,” she insisted, aggravating his anger. Leslie was angry. “I’m glad he amuses you!”
“Of course, I’m not hard to please,” she said pointedly. He was stung to the quick.
“Then there’s some comfort in knowing I don’t please you,” he said coldly.
“Oh! but you do! You amuse me also,” she said.
After that he would not speak, preferring, I suppose, not to amuse her.
Lettie took my arm, and with her disengaged hand held her skirts above the wet grass. When he had left us at the end of the riding in the wood, Lettie said:
“What an infant he is!”
“A bit of an ass,” I admitted.
“But really!” she said, “he’s more agreeable on the whole than — than my Taurus.”
“Your bull!” I repeated, laughing.
Chapter 3
A Vendor of Visions
The Sunday following Lettie’s visit to the mill, Leslie came up in the morning, admirably dressed, and perfected by a grand air. I showed him into the dark drawing-room, and left him. Ordinarily he would have wandered to the stairs, and sat there calling to Lettie; today he was silent. I carried the news of his arrival to my sister, who was pinning on her brooch.
“And how is the dear boy?” she asked.
“I have not inquired,” said I.
She laughed, and loitered about till it was time to set off for church before she came downstairs. Then she also assumed the grand air and bowed to him with a beautiful bow. He was somewhat taken aback and had nothing to say. She rustled across the room to the window, where the white geraniums grew magnificently. “I must adorn myself,” she said.
It was Leslie’s custom to bring her flowers. As he had not done so this day, she was piqued. He hated the scent and chalky whiteness of the geraniums. So she smiled at him as she pinned them into the bosom of her dress, saying:
“They are very fine, are they not?”
He muttered that they were. Mother came downstairs, greeted him warmly, and asked him if he would take her to church.
“If you will allow me,” said he.
“You are modest today,” laughed Mother.
“Today!” he repeated.
“I hate modesty in a young man,” said Mother —“Come, we shall be late.” Lettie wore the geraniums