"Was that what you were going to tell me about?" asked Lawrence, quickly, and with renewed interest. "I thought you were making game of me."
"That's the trouble! You'll never believe that I'm in earnest, now. That's the worst of practical jokes. Come along! We must be going home. The sun's behind the hill and ever so low, I'm sure. We shan't get home before dusk. How sweet that fern smells! Give it back to me, won't you?"
They rose and began to walk homeward in the warm shadow of the woods. As before, Fanny went first along the narrow path, and Lawrence, following close behind her, and watching the supple grace of her as she moved, breathed in also the intoxicating perfume of the aromatic sweet fern which she still carried in her hand.
CHAPTER IX.
On the following afternoon Fanny Trehearne announced her intention of riding with Mr. Brinsley.
"I'd take you, too," she said to Lawrence, with a singularly cold stare. "Only as you can't ride much, you wouldn't enjoy it, you know."
"Certainly not," answered Lawrence, returning her glance with all coolness. "I shouldn't enjoy it at all."
"You might take my cousins out in the boat, instead."
"Are they tired of life?" enquired the young man, smiling. "No. I want to make a sketch in the woods. I'll go out by myself, thank you."