"This isn't Olive," and she gave her elfin laugh.
"But you meant it for Olive. This is the little girl who lives over on the rock, where we go to see the seals and the great flocks of birds. You know I told you of her."
Elena stared at the visitor. She had a curious, gypsy-like brilliance, with her shining, laughing mischievous eyes and the glow in her cheeks. She was very dark, a good deal from living in the sun, and not a bad-looking child either. And now an odd, coquettish smile flashed over the eyes, mouth, and chin, and was fascinating in its softness. She held out her hand.
"Victor likes you so much," she said, and Victor flushed at the betrayal of confidence he had used to persuade her into cordiality. "I think I shall like you, too. Let us run a race. If I beat you, you must like me the most and do just as I say, and if you beat I will be just like your slave all day long."
"No, Lena. You must not do any such thing."
"She is like a little snail then! She is afraid!" and the black eyes flashed mirth as well as insolence.
"I am not afraid." Laverne stood up very straight, a bright red rose blooming on each cheek. "Where to?" she asked briefly.
"Down to the fig trees."
"Will you count three?" Laverne asked of Victor.
He smiled and frowned.