"Yes, I am going," answered Margaret, with decision.
Rosalie said something about its being "much better," as the road was "so lonely;" and then, turning, she made her way back to the tree.
"It's not like you, Garda, to be so wilful," said Margaret, when was out of hearing.
"Why, yes, it is. Your will is nice and beautiful, so I don't come into conflict with it; hers isn't, so I do. I don't weigh one hundred and eighty pounds, and I don't mind the heat; why, then, should I sit under a tree forever because she has to?"
"I wish you would sit under it to oblige me."
"It isn't to oblige you, it's to oblige Mrs. Rosalie; I can't possibly take the trouble to oblige Mrs. Rosalie. You don't really mind the sun any more than I do, you slim fair thing! it's all pretence. Let red people sit under trees; you and I will go on." She put her arm round Margaret and drew her forward. "Don't be vexed with me; you know I love you better than anything else on earth."
"Yet never wish to please me."
"Yes, I do. But I please you as I am. Is that impertinent?"
"Yes," said Margaret, gravely.
"It's your fault, then; you've spoiled me. When have you done one thing or said one thing through all this long summer which was not extraordinarily kind? Nobody in the world, Margaret, has ever dreamed of being as devoted to me as you have been. And if that's impertinent too—the saying so—I can't help it; it's true."