As he spoke he took a step forward and gazed down the winding village street. There was a look of pleased expectation in his eyes. He seemed to be watching for some one. A girl appeared, walking slowly up the street. Frere's eye began to dance. Everett, who was about to go into the shady parlor, gave him a keen glance—and for some reason his eyes also grew bright with expectation.
"There's something worth looking at," he exclaimed in a laughing voice.
"What did you say?" asked Frere gruffly.
"Nothing, old man—at least nothing special. I say, doesn't Hetty look superb?"
"You've no right to call her Hetty."
Everett gave a low whistle.
"I rather fancy I have," he answered—"she gave me leave this morning."
"Impossible," said Frere. He turned pale under all his sunburn, and bit his lower lip. "Don't you find the sun very hot?" he asked.
"No, it is sinking into the west—the great heat is over. Let us go and enliven this little charmer."
"I will," said Frere suddenly. "You had better stay here where you are. It is my right," he added. "I was about to tell you so, when she came in view."