"Is he poor?"
"Not now, but he is economical. He saves his money."
"Oh, he is a screw, a miser."
"No, not that,—he gives away a good deal. He has had a hard life, has my poor cousin, and now he understands the trials of others."
"Poverty is tiresome, but it is sometimes good for one," said Bidiane, wisely.
Rose's white teeth gleamed in sudden amusement. "Ah, the dear little parrot, she has been well trained."
Bidiane leaned out the window. There was Agapit, peering eagerly forward from the hood of his carriage, and staring up with some of the old apprehensiveness with which he used to approach her.
"What a dreadful child I was," reflected Bidiane, with a blush of shame. "He is yet afraid of me."
Agapit, with difficulty averting his eyes from her round, childish face and its tangle of reddish hair, sprang from his seat and fastened his horse to the post sunk in the grass at the edge of the lawn, while Rose, followed by Bidiane, went out to meet him.
"How do you do, Rose," he murmured, taking her hand in his own, while his eyes ran behind to the waiting Bidiane.