"Where were you this afternoon?" Norval was carefully filling his pipe, sitting astride his chair.
"Part of the time I was in the woods on the hill," Donelle glanced at Jo through the open door.
"That's odd!" Norval puffed slowly and Donelle's eyes pleaded unconsciously. For no real reason she did not want Jo to know she had been with Tom. She was haunted by the look!
"Why don't you come up to my cabin and play to me?" This in a tone so low that Mam'selle could not hear.
"I—I don't know. I might be in the way while you work."
"On the contrary. Come up to-morrow, Donelle, I'll paint you with your fiddle. You'll make the town stare, the town back home."
The colour rose to Donelle's face. She remembered Tom's words.
"I do not want strangers staring at my face," she said with some spirit.
"Why not? It's a pretty face, Donelle."
Then the girl crossed the room and stood before him.