To Olive, he was confidential, and finally won her to the same state. They studied, read and discussed, disagreed and argued, but he was always so polite, and ready to gracefully yield when a contested point could not be settled, that Olive grew ashamed of her more abrupt manners and hasty speech, and so the intimacy helped her in more ways than one. He confided to her all his ambitious plans of being a great lawyer, and his impatience at having to drop his studies for so many months. She, in turn, confided to him her longing for artistic study, and made him ashamed by the patience with which she had laid aside her cherished plans, and given all her time to the work which necessity demanded. So their friendship prospered.
To Kittie, he was invaluable, and a more devoted brother and sister surely never lived. They boated, walked, sang, played and, in short, were almost constantly together. He was quick to discover the girlish longing to be graceful, refined and accomplished, and he helped her much, both as an example of polished, polite manners, and by rehearsing for her many of the accomplishments and graces of ladies of his acquaintance. And many times had he said to her in their little chats: "You have a constant example before you, Kittie, in your mother. She is so refined, and such a true, noble woman, I would love to see you like her."
To Kat, he was nothing, unless it was a stumbling block in the way of her happiness. She didn't like him, and was furiously jealous of the flourishing friendship between him and Kittie. He had not been solemn and poky, as she had prophesied, and the fact nettled her. She never could make him angry, though she left no way untried, and that was exasperating. He was always catching her at a disadvantage, and what she thought was anger at the fact, was, in truth, wounded pride. She was as rude as she dared be, and never lost an opportunity to sharp-shoot; and while he realized the impoliteness of a return shot, the temptation was too great to resist; so they had some lively skirmishes, in all good humor on his side, but in lively anger on hers.
He came out on the porch one day, and found her sitting on the steps, with her hat tilted over her eyes, and a generally woe-begone look in her whole attitude; and they had just had a wordy battle out at the pond.
"Why, Kathleen," he exclaimed, in mock penitence, "is it possible? Why, I never meant to hurt your feelings. I didn't suppose they could be hurt."
"No; they can't, by you," retorted Kat, knocking off her hat, and showing her eyes scornfully bright and dry. "Whenever you speak, I consider the source, and it never amounts to much."
"Is it possible?" he exclaimed, laughing. "When I speak to you, you are the source of every inspiring word."
"Then I am heartily ashamed of myself."
"I don't wonder; I'm often ashamed of you."
"You're hideous," cried Kat, fiercely. "I wonder if you have the ghost of an idea how horrible you are, Ralph Tremayne?"