“You will come, won’t you?” he said.
“Don’t worry your cousin, Claud, my dear, if she would rather not,” said Mrs Wilton.
“Who’s worrying her?” said Claud, testily. “I say, Kate, say you’ll come.”
“I would rather not to-day,” she said, quietly.
“There now, you’re beginning to mope again, and I mean to stop it. I tell you what; we’ll have out the guns, and I’ll take you along by the fir plantation.”
“No, no, my boy,” said Wilton, interposing. “Kate isn’t a boy.”
“Who said she was?” said the young man, gruffly. “Can’t a woman pull a trigger if she likes?”
“I daresay she could, my dear,” said Mrs Wilton; “but I’m sure I shouldn’t like to. I’ve often heard your papa say how badly guns kicked.”
“So do donkeys, mother,” said Claud, sulkily; “but I shouldn’t put her on one that did. You’ll come, won’t you, dear?”
“No, Claud,” said Kate, very quietly and firmly. “I could not find any pleasure in trying to destroy the life of a beautiful bird.”