‘Why don’t you suggest to Uncle Howard that he engage a nurse for me?’
‘I begin to think you need one!’
Marcia laid a light hand on his arm.
‘Mr. Sybert, please don’t speak to me so harshly.’
‘I’ll speak to your uncle—that’s what I’ll do,’ he retorted.
They had by this time reached the castle, and having crossed the drawbridge and the stone courtyard, they came out on the other side, with the noisy little town left suddenly behind. The mountains rose above them, the valley lay beneath, and before them a straight, grassy road stretched into the hills, bordered by the tall arches of an old aqueduct. They strolled along, talking idly, Marcia well in command of the situation. There was a touch of audacity, even of provocation, underneath her glance, and Sybert was amusedly aware of the fact that he was being flirted with. Quite to Marcia’s astonishment, he met her on her own ground; he accepted the half-challenge in her manner and was never the first to lower his eyes. They had come to a bank starred pink with cyclamen and backed by one of the tall arches of the aqueduct.
‘Suppose we sit down and look at the view,’ he suggested.
Marcia seated herself on a projecting block of masonry, while Sybert lounged on the grass at her side.
‘Mr. Melville told me the other day,’ he remarked presently, ‘that he remembers having seen your mother when she was a little girl.’
Marcia nodded and laughed. ‘He told me about it—he says she was the worst tom-boy he ever saw.’