“Well, no, hardly that. It is quite contented to remain a frog—a very superior kind of frog.”
“Do you come every day for lessons?” asked Rosalie, uncertain what to say.
“Three times a week. And the other days I walk over in my spare time.”
“Then you have not far to come?”
“Not far, comparatively speaking. The distance lessens as one grows older, I find.”
“Then it would be less to me than you?”
Again he laughed.
“Well, no; I expect I’ve had more practice than you. Good morning!”
And he was gone, leaving Rosalie to ponder on that odd kind of powerful beauty in his face, and that exuberant merriness that made her sigh to lose him. For that was the worst of Billy. He seemed to come and go more like some brilliant spirit, a kind of Mercury, with winged heels, to bring one ray of sunshine, and then depart.