"I don't think she minds much," replied Rob grimly. "And last night, you know, I told you it was bright moonlight, and they were out on the piazza ever so long. After you went to sleep, I heard them. I don't want him round in the way, and I am glad we are going home next week. And, you know, Fred, she always dresses up when he comes."
"I don't see what that's for," answered Fred loyally. "She's always pretty enough."
"Yes, I know," said Rob loftily, from the height of his thirteen years' experience of life and its problems; "but women do that kind of thing, when they like anybody. Say, how do you feel, Fred?"
"Horrid!" said Fred tersely.
"Didn't those leaves do any good?" inquired Rob, as he sat up in bed.
"Not yet, Bob. But I wish Miss Bess needn't know, for to-day they're all going on that picnic up the river, and I'm afraid she won't go."
"Can't you?" asked Rob anxiously, for as this was to be the crowning festivity of their visit, his heart had been set on it, and ever since he had discovered Fred's poison, he had been longing, yet fearing, to start the subject.
"I don't feel much like it," said Fred. "I don't care at all, for picnics aren't as much fun for me as they used to be." Here Rob gave his friend's hand a consoling squeeze. "But you can all go and leave me, Bob. I shall be all right, and I want you to go just the same."
When Rob entered the breakfast-room, two hours later, he said to his cousin,—
"I wish you'd go up to Fred, a minute."