The boy stood with his eyes downcast.
"And don't sulk," went on his uncle with exasperation. "For Heaven's sake, don't sulk. That's the way it is, Mrs. Lowell, if you try to think up some jolly thing for him to do, he stands like an image. No more backbone than a jellyfish."
"Everybody doesn't like the water," returned Mrs. Lowell, moved now by the dread that the man might suspect her influence and remove the boy.
"Well, how did you like the farm?" he pursued.
"What a pleasant place it is," she returned, seating herself on the piazza rail. "No wonder you like to spend time there. I haven't forgotten those charming sketches you showed me, either."
Gayne made a clumsy bow. "You flatter me," he said. "I make no claims."
The lady looked down on the garden border.
"The sweet peas look thirsty, Bertie," she said. "Let's water them."
The boy followed her in silence to where the coiled hose lay, and his uncle looked after them, a thoughtful frown gathering on his dark brow.