"Do not work too hard,—that is a mistake. One must enjoy life a little."
He gathered up the reins in his hands and paused a minute before he stepped into the buggy. "I suppose I seem very old to you."
She hesitated for an instant, and the wind dying down a little seemed to take the words from her lips and softly breathe them against his dark, quiet face. "Not so very old,—not as old as you did at first. If I were as old as you, I should not do such silly things."
He stared solemnly at her wind-blown figure swaying lightly to and fro on the gravel, and at the little hands put up to keep her dishevelled hair from her eyes and cheeks, which were both glowing from her hurried scamper home. "Are you really worried because you played this trick on your aunt?"
"Yes, terribly, she has been like a mother to me. I would be ashamed for Mr. Nimmo to know."
"And will you lie awake to-night and vex yourself about it?"
"Oh, yes, yes,—how can you tell? Perhaps you also have troubles."
Agapit laughed in sudden and genuine amusement. "Mademoiselle, my cousin, let me say something to you that you may perhaps remember when you are older. It is this: you have at present about as much comprehension and appreciation of real heart trouble, and of mental struggles that tear one first this way, then that way,—you have about as much understanding of them as has that kitten sheltering itself behind you."
Bidiane quietly stowed away this remark among the somewhat heterogeneous furniture of her mind; then she said, "I feel quite old when I talk to my aunt and to Claudine."
"You are certainly ahead of them in some mental experiences, but you are not yet up to some other people."