“Now I realize that you actually are like Athene. You’re one of those people who seem to have sprung into the world fully armed. I can’t imagine that you were ever young.”
Mrs. Ross laughed outright at this.
“Wait a minute,” cried Michael. “Or ever old for that matter. And you know all about me. No, you needn’t shake your head like that. Because you do.”
Young Kenneth was so much roused by Michael’s triumphant asseverations that he began to shout and kick in delighted tune and fling the apples from him with a vigour that he had never yet reached.
“You know,” Michael continued breathlessly, while the boy on the grass gurgled his endorsement of every word. “You know that I’m old for my age, that I’ve already done things that other chaps at school only whisper about.”
He stopped suddenly, for the grey eyes had become like rocks, and though the baby still panted ecstatically, there fell a chill.
“I’m very sorry to hear it,” said Mrs. Ross.
“Well, why did you lead me on to confide in you?” said Michael sullenly. “I thought you would sympathize.”
“Michael, I apologize,” she said, melting. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I dare say—ah, Michael, you see how easily all my shining armour falls to pieces.”
“Another broken bottle,” Michael muttered.