"While they last—but they don't last, you know, they have their seasons. That's the curse of them, or the charm. If they only lasted earth would be paradise or hell, wouldn't it?"
But generalizations had no further attraction for her. Her mind was one great wonder, and she felt that she could hardly keep alive until she could stand face to face with Abel and read the truth in his eyes.
"All the same I want to go," she repeated obstinately.
Suspicion seized him, and his mouth grew a little hard under his short moustache.
"Molly," he asked, "have you been thinking again about the miller?"
"How absurd! What put that into your head?" she retorted indignantly.
The idea, innocent as it was, appeared to incense her. What a little firebrand she looked, and how hot her eyes glowed when she was angry!
"Well, I'm glad you haven't—because, you know, really it wouldn't do," he answered.
"What wouldn't do?"
"Your marrying a Revercomb—it wouldn't do in the least."