“You are making the worst of it, Cynthy.”
“No, I’m not, for Harry—there, I won’t talk about it; I’m tired of all the nonsense, spooning and flirting with Harry and that fat-featured—oh! why is it rude for a young lady to slap such a fellow’s face, Julie? If you marry that Perry-Morton I’ll never speak to you again.”
“I shall never marry Mr Perry-Morton,” said Julia, dreamily.
“No, no; we don’t want to marry any one at all,” said Cynthia, merrily. “Come and let’s be children in the wood again. It’s heavenly out of doors, dear. Come along.”
Heavenly it was, as they got out of the fields, and struck out through the woods, where the soft moss was like a carpet beneath their feet, and the air was redolent with scents and suggestions of the spring. For it was one of those days, of those very few days, that come early in the year, when the senses seem to be appealed to, and, in a delicious calm, the worries and cares of life roll away, and the spirit seems even troubled with the sweet sense of joy.
The sisters had wandered far, and filled their baskets, but still there were always fresh blossoms to pluck, odorous violets or primroses, and delicate scraps of moss or early leaf.
Cynthia was a couple of score yards away from her sister, in the budding copse, trilling a merry song, as if in answer to the birds, and Julia, with a bright, happy flush upon her face, was still eagerly piling up fresh sweets, when a clump of primroses, fairer than any she had yet gathered, drew her a few yards further amongst the hazel stems.
She was in the act of stooping down to pick them when her flushed face became like marble, her lips parted, her eyes dilated, and she stopped—leaning forward—motionless—fascinated by what she saw.
And that was the face of Jock Morrison, as he lay amongst the leaves and flowers, prone upon his chest, his arms folded before him, his chin resting upon them, and his eyes literally seizing hers, not a yard away.
He did not speak or move, only crouched there, staring at her as if he were some philosopher trying the effect of the stronger eye upon the weaker. Neither did Julia speak, but stood there bending down, her eyes fixed, her body motionless, while you might have counted twenty.