XXXV
OF COURSE
Admire my daughter! Sir, you're very good.
—Tales of the Hall.
There followed such a round of teas on the hill and dinners at the cottage; of picnics, walks, drives, and berry-scouts, that the days gave up their ordinary rate of progress, and flew. June had long been out of sight; and now July was ending, and August close at hand. Magnus indeed closed his ears to the soft flutter, as the days winged by; but not so Mrs. Kindred, and not so Cherry. The girl began to look forward with absolute dismay to the drawing out from her daily life of this gold-twisted silken thread. What should she do, when Magnus was away again?
If I say that she was getting bound to him in deeper and finer trust and love, with every new day's experience, it is no more than the truth; and no more, I think, than he deserved. Love for the right sort of woman puts a man at his best, and brings him out wonderfully. Count the minutes? Ah, yes! two hearts at least did that. In just so many days more Magnus must leave them all.
Then suppose Mr. Erskine—no, it could not be; and yet, after every such decision, one always goes back to say the "suppose" over again.
"Magnus, I do wish you would have your talk with papa," Cherry ventured one day.
"You recommended that at first—twice, if I recollect right," remarked Cadet Kindred.
"I did nothing of the sort. But I should think you might have commended it to yourself by this time."
"It is such fun to puzzle him."