To him it seemed quite refreshing to talk to a girl who, with all her loveliness, evidently seemed not to know how to flirt or even think about it.
'I must now bid you good-morning,' said Mary, on reaching a hedge-bordered path that led to her home.
'What is the name of that house so charmingly embosomed among birches?' he asked.
'Birkwoodbrae.'
'Birkwoodbrae—indeed!' he repeated, with a start that Mary detected, but believed it to be simulated, and felt somewhat offended in consequence.
'The name seems to interest you,' said she, coldly, almost with hauteur.
'Do you reside there?' he asked, while regarding her so curiously that Mary felt her natural colour deepen.
'Yes, and have done so since my father's death,' and, bowing again, she quickly withdrew, while he, with hat in hand, looked after her.
'These are the last trout we shall have for a time—of my own fishing at least, Ellinor,' said Mary, as she relieved herself of the basket and told of the forenoon adventures.
'Why?'