Cecil drops her hands by her side, and her large, deep eyes float in tears, but her brilliant lips are set. Just once they open.
"You are naughty to me," she says, with childish audacity.
"Very well." He takes a slow step as if to give her time for repentance. He could bestow an undignified shake upon the proud little mite, but he refrains.
"Jane, come and look after Miss Cecil," he exclaims, authoritatively. Then he gives her a quick kiss, but she stands with swelling chest and eyes glittering in tears, watching him out of sight.
Aunt Laura rustles down.
"Mutiny in the camp," says madame, with a little laugh; and though Cecil does not understand, she knows she is meant.
"Floyd will have his hands full with that child," comments Laura. "She is not so angelic as she looks."
Floyd has stepped into the buggy. Sultan snuffs with his thin nostrils, and paces with proud grace.
"There's a beauty for you, Floyd," Eugene says, triumphantly. "You cannot find his match anywhere about here."
Floyd is very fond of handsome horses, and Sultan stirs a sudden enthusiasm. Eugene expatiates eloquently upon his merits, which are evident. The shady road, the fragrant air, the glimpses of the broad river glittering in the morning sun, and the purple cliff opposite, are indeed a dream of beauty. He more than half wishes there was no business to distract one's mind.