“The Judge? Never! Why I just love him. He is the dearest, best––”
“I see. He’s an angel entirely, and no mere mortal from Paris is to be mentioned in the same breath.”
“Well, he is everything charming,” she insisted. “You would be sure to like him.”
“I wish I could be as sure you might change your mind and like the new-comer from Paris.”
“Do you? Oh, well, then, I’ll certainly try. What is he like, nice?”
“I really can’t remember ever having heard any one say so,” confessed the stranger, smiling at her.
“Well,” and Evilena regarded him with wide, astonished eyes, “no one else likes him, yet you hoped I would. Why, I don’t see how––”
The soft quick beat of horse hoofs on the white shelled road interrupted her, or gave opportunity for interrupting herself.
“I hope it’s Gertrude. Oh, it is! You dear old darling.”