"Frip is our baby still," observed Merryl. "I sometimes think she always will be. We are going now to feed the chickens. You are sure you would rather find Magda yourself?"
Ned was not quite sure. He felt tempted to ask if he might not first interview the chickens; but this suggestion was resisted.
Merryl smiled a good-bye; and as the two went off, he overheard a shrill little voice saying—"I like that man! Don't you?" Followed by a—"Hush, darling."
"That's a nice girl," Ned murmured. He recalled the plump plain-faced little Merryl of former times, and marvelled over time's developments. Would Magda be equally transformed? And if so, in what direction? She had been better-looking than Merryl, despite her "scarecrow" outlines. Whether she would be so still remained to be seen.
Ned knew well the walk at the end of the kitchen garden. It had been there that Magda was wont, in past days, to take refuge from a troublesome world, when in one of her injured moods. He wondered whether she kept the habit up still. Then Merryl's words recurred to his mind; and he questioned—was it Magda who had been "cross"?
There she was—pacing hurriedly along the grass-path, just as in old times. Something had plainly gone wrong with her. She was walking away from where he stood; and he examined the restless movements, contrasting them mentally with the repose of the younger girl's look. Like many men, perhaps most men, Ned loved repose.
Now she was coming back, moving still with a quick impatient swing, as if working off indignation. Her eyes were bent on the ground and he had time to analyse her further, before she looked up. Improved in some ways, he told himself. Height and figure were good; and she held herself well; and the sunshine, catching her hair, lighted the red-gold into brilliancy. But the face at that moment was not a happy one.
Suddenly—as a result, perhaps, of his gaze—she glanced full at him. There was a momentary hesitation; and then a glow of pleasure.
"Ned!" she cried, and drew back. "Oh, I beg your pardon. I mean—Mr. Fairfax."
"Since when have I ceased to be 'Ned'?" he asked, as their hands met.