I must say I could see no reason for his mirth. “Picture it,” said he, “a rocking-horse for a child not three months old!”
I was about to say fiercely: “The stirrups are adjustable,” but thought it best to laugh with him. But I was pained to hear that Mary had laughed, though heaven knows I have often laughed at her.
“But women are odd,” he said unexpectedly, and explained. It appears that in the middle of her merriment Mary had become grave and said to him quite haughtily, “I see nothing to laugh at.” Then she had kissed the horse solemnly on the nose and said, “I wish he was here to see me do it.” There are moments when one cannot help feeling a drawing to Mary.
But moments only, for the next thing he said put her in a particularly odious light. He informed me that she had sworn to hunt Mr. Anon down.
“She won't succeed,” I said, sneering but nervous.
“Then it will be her first failure,” said he.
“But she knows nothing about the man.”
“You would not say that if you heard her talking of him. She says he is a gentle, whimsical, lonely old bachelor.”
“Old?” I cried.
“Well, what she says is that he will soon be old if he doesn't take care. He is a bachelor at all events, and is very fond of children, but has never had one to play with.”