Then the wonder fled from her mind, for, as a shadow fell over her path, she looked up, startled, into the eyes of Gay, who had burst suddenly out of the willows. His face was flushed and he appeared a trifle annoyed. As he stopped before her, he cut sharply at the weeds with a small whip he carried.
"Don't, please," she said; "I hate to see people cut off the heads of innocent things."
"It is rather beastly," her returned, his face clearing. "Did you come out to find me, cousin?"
"Why should I, Mr. Jonathan?"
"You don't soften the blow—but why 'Mr. Jonathan'?"
"I thought it was your name."
"It's not my name to you—I say, Molly, do you mind my telling you that you're a brick?"
"Oh, no, not if you feel like it."
"I do feel like it tremendously."
"Then I don't mind in the least," and to prove it she smiled radiantly into his face. Her smile was the one really beautiful thing about Molly, but as far as her immediate purpose went it served her as successfully as a host.