He was so sorry for her—doomed to slave all day for those two rascally small boys. He could not keep her out of his mind. As he tramped the hills the next morning the very blue of the sky and the softness of the air against his cheek became a pain to him—she was tied to a stuffy nursery. His own freedom of will and movement became a source of actual vexation—she was bound to a "do this" and a "do that" all day. He wondered then, suddenly, if he could not in some way help. He sought her as soon as possible.
"Come, I want you to go to walk with me. I want to show you the view from Pike's Hill," he urged.
"Me? To walk? Why, Mr. Denby, I can't!"
Again the wild-rose flush came and went—and again Burke Denby stepped nearer.
"Why not?"
"Why, I couldn't leave the children; besides—it's Master Paul's nap hour."
"What a pity—when it's so beautiful out! To-morrow, then, in the morning?"
She shook her head.
"I couldn't, Mr. Denby."
"The afternoon, then?"