"Oh no, indeed!" the girl protested. "It's—it's charming. I was thinking of something else for an instant."
"Ye're sure everything's all right?" Mothereen persisted, her pretty brows puckered.
"Quite sure. Thank you so much!"
"Nothing ye'd like to have me change?"
"Nothing at all," Marise consoled her, in a strained tone.
"Well then, I'm glad, and I'll leave ye to yerselves for a while. Come out to me when ye feel like it and not before—one or both. And ye'll be welcome as the flowers in May."
She kissed Marise and snuggled her cheek, rosy and fresh as an apple, against the arm of her adopted son. Then she was gone with a parting smile, and Garth shut the door.
"That was mighty fine behaviour of yours, and I thank you with all my heart," he said to Marise.
She had dropped into a chair, tremulous about the knees. "You needn't thank me," she answered. "What I did was for her."
"I know. That's why I thank you," said Garth. "I think a lot more about Mothereen's feelings than I do my own. Mine are case-hardened—hers aren't, and never could be. You see, she's fond of me."