But Alexina shivered a little, for there was a chill whenever the wind rose.
“Walk down to the pier,” he begged, “and back. Then you shall go in.”
The path led through the grove. Stopping to select an orange for her, he passed his hand almost caressingly up and down a limb of the tree.
“And you begin to pick the oranges Monday?” said Alexina.
“Monday.”
“And this is Thursday.”
They walked on. He was peeling away the yellow rind that she might have a white cup to drink from.
“I won’t be here to see the picking,” said Alexina. “I have to go to Kentucky for two weeks, something about business. Uncle Austen wrote me in the letter you brought out to-day, that it would simplify things if I could come. And Emily—Emily Carringford, you know—Uncle Austen’s wife, wrote too, asking me to stay with them.”
“So,” said he, “you go—”
“Monday. I’ve been talking to your mother, and she’s willing, if Captain Leroy and you are; I came out to ask you—I am always to be asking favors of your family, it seems—if you will let me leave Molly here instead of at the hotel. Celeste can attend to everything.”