"Only Grant would be angry, and you have grown afraid of the water."
"No wonder, where you are concerned," cried Tom. "I can't think of that dreadful day without a shudder."
"I don't allow myself to think of it at all," said Elsie.
She led the way into the library and sat down in a low chair, throwing off her garden-hat, and beginning to arrange the wild flowers which she held in her hands around the crown.
"What color is this, Tom?" she asked, holding up a delicate purple blossom that drooped its head, as if faint with its own perfume.
Tom's ignorance of color was a never-failing source of amusement to her. He looked at the flower very seriously; then after reflection said, in the tone of a man who was certain of being perfectly correct for once:
"That's blue, of course; I am not quite blind, whatever you may think."
Elsie screamed with delight.
"Oh, you delicious old goose! I suppose you call this one pink?"
"Yes," said Tom, confident that he must be right this time; "I suppose the most prejudiced person would have to call that pink."