“How beautiful this day!” exclaimed Mollie with enthusiasm. “I rejoice to be here!” as she stroked the arched neck of her steed with her shapely gloved hand. Mollie rode her horse as though she were mistress of the situation. Her feminine intuition told her that her lover was craving to declare his devotion, but she would have despised him for it. She knew that the ground on which she trod was sacred until the four weeks had passed. Yet she was fearful lest the promise to Segwuna could not be kept. Her party was to be held in two days and she was to dance in the minuet with Mr. Barclugh. She was satisfied as things were.
“What makes you so happy and beautiful this evening, Miss Mollie?” ventured Barclugh at last.
“I don’t know,” replied Mollie archly.
“May I guess?” queried Barclugh after some reflection.
“Don’t guess. I don’t like guessing,” retorted Mollie impatiently.
“But you will allow me this time?” returned Barclugh in his most dulcet tones.
“No; I can not,” replied Mollie, as she spurred her horse and started on a canter, Barclugh following her lead.
“Look! Mr. Barclugh, there is the Delaware!” exclaimed Mollie as she pointed toward a broad expanse of the river, at the same time looking at Barclugh with a roguish twinkle in her eyes.
“Confound those four weeks,” thought Barclugh; then he said:
“I don’t see so much in that to rave over. I am interested in better views. I am interested in you, just now.”