“You have turned me into a boy again. What magic do you use?”
“It is not I,” said Claudia merrily. “It is the air and the sky and the trees and the great simple things which we think nothing about. Why must you be a boy to feel the enchantment of them all?”
“Do you advise me, then, to go and live in a hut?”
“Oh, I don’t advise. There’s a splendid butterfly.”
She named it correctly.
“One of the girls at the college collected butterflies. I don’t do it myself because I like them too much. Look! here is a splendid bit of road for a spin. Let us race to that gate, though I shan’t have a chance.”
She dashed off, and contrived so cleverly to prevent his passing, that only at the last minute could Fenwick succeed in slipping round her.
“Only just!” she cried, waving her hand. “Oh, that was glorious! I wish we had timed ourselves.”
They raced again, teased each other, laughed, and behaved like two children on a holiday. As they went down the Huntingdon drive, Claudia gave a sigh of satisfaction.
“I’ve enjoyed it so much, every bit of it, haven’t you?”