“And I,” says Chris, “was born in 1907. Take seven from eight and what remains?”
“One, but it isn’t a real, whole one,” Easter objects.
No one knows this better than Chris, but he stoutly maintains: “A year’s a year, and you’re either born in it or you’re not—so there.”
However, in spite of this and many other differences of opinion, they had decided to get married when they came to what Easter’s nurse calls “a suitable age.”
As a rule Chris follows blindly where Easter leads, giving in to her stronger will and considerably stronger body, though not always without protest.
Easter is tall for her age and very muscular. She has a gentle, early-Victorian, regularly featured, delicately tinted face, with a high forehead, abundant curly, fair hair, and large pathetic blue eyes that are entirely misleading. In fact, her appearance is as unlike her real character as it is possible for such an extremely agreeable exterior to be. She looks all softness and gravity and gentle melancholy. Whereas she is a ruthless and determined young person who cares nothing for “moral suasion” and less for punishments and penalties, provided she gets her own way.
Chris, on the contrary, is soft-hearted and easily ruled through his affections. He would rather not be disobedient and troublesome unless such breakings of the law are expressly commanded by Easter.
But to be called a “muff” is more than he can bear, and rather than Easter should think this of him he will offend his whole dynasty of friends.
Chris and Easter were sitting under a hedge brilliant with scarlet hips and cloudy with “traveler’s joy.” The hedge topped a fairly steep bank, with a ditch full of muddy water at the bottom of the bank.