"H'm!" but the face gradually softened.
"Give us a little time, and it'll all come right. You don't want to get rid of me instantly, do you?"
"You know quite well—"
"Yes, yes, you'd like us to be old maids, but I—" she shook her head in the manner of one regretfully declining an impossible request. "May I shut the door?"
"Yes."
She came back, sat down on the crimson footstool at the side of the chair, and laid her head on the arm.
"Please be kind to me," she said; "it's very lonely here at the Fort when you aren't kind." Neither moved for several moments, and then Val felt the touch on her hair. The tears rushed suddenly into her eyes. She took the hand and kissed it. "How beautiful your hands are!" she said, laying her cheek in the palm, and then raising her head to look again. "The inside is the color and the texture of a rose-leaf."
"Is that the kind of thing Ethan has been saying to you?" The inquiry rang a little grimly.
"Oh no," Val laughed. "He couldn't. My hands aren't beautiful." They were quiet awhile. "I haven't much that I can tell you, dear," the girl went on, "but that I'm very happy—oh, the happiest person in the world!" She smiled up into the vigilant old face. "And that in the end I shall have what—what I've wanted since I was sixteen—oh, ever since I was born, I think." She lowered her eyes, and the red came into her cheeks.