Then Avery sat down on the rung of her ladder and laughed at Janet's face.
"You look stunned, Janet. Did you really think I wanted to marry Randall?"
Janet was stunned, and she did think that. How could any girl not want to marry Randall Burnley if she had the chance?
"Don't you love him?" she asked stupidly.
Avery bit into a nut-sweet apple.
"No," she said frankly. "Oh, I don't hate him, of course. I like him well enough. I like him very well. But we'll quarrel all our lives."
"Then what are you marrying him for?" asked Janet.
"Why, I'm getting on—twenty-two—all the girls of my age are married already. I won't be an old maid, and there's nobody but Randall. Nobody good enough for a Sparhallow, that is. You wouldn't want me to marry Ned Adams or John Buchanan, would you?"
"No," said Janet, who had her full share of the Sparhallow pride.
"Well, then, of course I must marry Randall. That's settled and there's no use making faces over the notion. I'm not making faces, but I'm tired of hearing you talk as if you thought I adored him and must be in the seventh heaven because I was going to marry him, you romantic child."