She refused by a gesture and then, seeming to realize a misstep, quickly changed her mood or at least her manner. She was gay. She saw all sorts of interesting things along the path. Her feet almost danced along and when they came into full sight of the lake, she stepped and flung out her arms with a gesture of joyous abandon, which even in its slight theatricalness was lovely to see. Langley adapted himself to her mood. They sat on a rock and flung stones into the water, and, being entirely human, Langley found himself appreciative of the way the wind could rumple her soft yellow hair without making it ugly or disorderly. An hour passed. It had been late afternoon when they reached the lake and the water was no longer dancing in the sunlight but grey and moving as if turned to severer purposes. Rose lay stretched on a rock, a slim delicate figure, exaggerated against its bareness.
“Are you in love with Horatia Grant?” she asked suddenly.
The question came unpleasantly to Jim. He hesitated, unwilling to drag Horatia’s name into a tête-à-tête with Rose and then answered, briefly—almost brusquely,
“Yes.”
“Is she going to marry you?”
Mrs. Hubbell did not seem to be aware of his hesitation. She put the second question as directly as the first.
“Yes—we are going to be married. Come, Rose, it is late.”
“She is lovely looking,” contributed Mrs. Hubbell, contemplatively.
“I don’t want to discuss her, Rose. It’s—impossible.”
She continued to lie there very quietly, non-resistant.