“Is that you, Cousin Imogene?” cried April through the window, and then Dorothea understood why the conversation had been changed so abruptly.
April’s welcome of Miss Imogene was obviously sincere, but very shortly she made an excuse to leave them, and the two were alone again.
“I wonder why April doesn’t like me?” Dorothea speculated half-musingly.
“Oh, but she does,” Miss Imogene remarked with a smile.
“No, she doesn’t,” Dorothea insisted with a laugh. “If you just watch—you’ll see. You won’t notice anything at first, but in a little while you’ll find out she simply can’t bear me.”
The elder woman pondered this statement for a moment. Then she shook her head.
“If April had cared a rap for Val Tracy—but she never did,” Miss Imogene said, half to herself. “No, no, child! You’re just imagining things.”
“I’m sure I’m right, Cousin Imogene,” Dorothea maintained, firm in her opinion of the matter. “And besides, I don’t see what Val Tracy has to do with it.”
“Speak of angels and you’ll hear the rustle of their wings,” cried a voice behind them and Captain Tracy himself stepped upon the gallery floor, having come across the thick grass of the lawn so noiselessly that they had not heard his approach.
“Listeners never hear any good of themselves, you mean,” Miss Imogene laughed, giving him her hand.