“Mr Millar has just stepped out,” said Mr Snow. “So you had the minister to-night, again, eh, Rosie? It seems to me, he is getting pretty fond of visiting, ain’t he?”
Rose laughed.
“I am sure that is a good thing. The people will like that, won’t they?”
“The people he goes to see will, I don’t doubt.”
“Well, we have no reason to complain. He has given us our share of his visits, always,” said Mrs Snow, in a tone that her husband knew was meant to put an end to the discussion of the subject. Graeme was not so observant, however.
“It was hardly a visit he made at Mr Greenleaf’s to-night. He came in just, before tea, and left when we left, immediately after. He walked with us to the foot of the hill.”
“He was explaining to Elliott and me the chemical change that takes place in the leaves, that makes the beautiful autumn colours we were admiring so much,” said Rose. “He is great in botany and chemistry, Elliott says.”
And then it came out how he had crossed the bridge, and found them under the oak trees behind the mill, and what talk there had been about the sunset and the leaves, and a good deal more. Mr Snow turned an amused yet doubtful look from her to his wife; but Mrs Snow’s closely shut lips said so plainly, “least said soonest mended,” that he shut his lips, too.
It would have been as well if Graeme had done so, also she thought afterwards; but she had made up her mind to say something to her sister that night, whether she liked it or not, and so standing behind her, as she was brushing out her hair, she said,—
“I think it was rather foolish in Mr Perry to come to Mr Greenleaf’s to-night, and to come away with us afterwards.”