'I know,' said Robina, looking up into those kind eyes. 'I want to tell you—' but she panted, and he encouraged her by putting his other hand over hers caressingly. 'Edgar comes every Sunday,' came out at last.
'And what of that? Isn't it a pleasure?'
'It—it would be—but he and Alice ought not to send each other notes and messages.'
'What?' very low.
'Indeed they do; and I can't tell what to do.'
'What sort of notes and messages?' asked Felix, in a half reproving voice, as though he thought the solemnity of thirteen was taking alarm needlessly.
'O Felix, love notes,' half whispered the girl, hanging her burning head.
'Nonsense, child; you have misunderstood some joke.'
'No,' said Robina, looking full in his face with sturdy offended dignity. 'They both were in earnest when they told me about it.'
'About what?' said he, still severely, as he sat down on a bench, unheeding February damp.