"Are you so fond of your father as all that?"
She laughed again,—a clear, exultant laugh.
"Yes," she answered, "of course I am as fond of him as all that. It's quite natural, isn't it?"
"I haven't observed the same degree of enthusiasm in all the young ladies of my acquaintance," he returned dryly.
He thought such rapture disproportionate to the cause, and regarded it grudgingly.
They turned into an arbor; and Octavia sat down, and leaned forward on the rustic table. Then she turned her face up to look at the vines covering the roof.
"It looks rather spidery, doesn't it?" she remarked. "I hope it isn't; don't you?"
The light fell bewitchingly on her round little chin and white throat; and a bar of sunlight struck on her upturned eyes, and the blonde rings on her forehead.
"There is nothing I hate more than spiders," she said, with a little shiver, "unless," seriously, "it's caterpillars—and caterpillars I loathe."
Then she lowered her gaze, and gave her hat—a large white Rubens, all soft, curling feathers and satin bows—a charming tip over her eyes.