Agapit turned to stare at him,—not angrily, but rather as if he had discovered something new and peculiar in the shape of young manhood. "Hear what she always says when young men, and often old men, drive up and say, 'Rose à Charlitte, will you marry me?' She says, 'Love,—it is all nonsense. You make all that.' Is it not so, Rose?"
"Yes," she replied, almost inaudibly; "I have said it."
"You make all that," repeated Agapit, triumphantly. "They can rave and cry,—they can say, 'My heart is breaking;' and she responds, 'Love,—there is no such thing. You make all that.' And yet you call her an Evangeline, a martyr of love who laid her life on its holy altar."
Rose was goaded into a response, and turned a flushed and puzzled face to her cousin. "Agapit, I will explain that lately I do not care to say 'You make all that.' I comprehend—possibly because the blacksmith talks so much to me of his wish towards my sister—that one does not make love. It is something that grows slowly, in the breast, like a flower. Therefore, do not say that I am of ice or stone."
"But you do not care to marry,—you just come from telling me so."
"Yes; I am not for marriage," she said, modestly, "yet do not say that I understand not. It is a beautiful thing to love."
"It is," said Agapit, "yet do not think of it, since thou dost not care for a husband. Let thy thoughts run on thy cooking. Thou wert born for that. I think that thou must have arrived in this world with a little stew-pan in thy hand, a tasting fork hanging at thy girdle. Do not wish to be an Evangeline or to read books. Figure to yourself, Mr. Nimmo,"—and he turned his head to the back seat,—"that last night she came to my room, she begged me for an English book,—she who says often to Narcisse, 'I will shake thee, my little one, if thou usest English words.' She says now that she wishes to learn,—she finds herself forgetful of many things that she learned in the convent. I said, 'Go to bed, thou silly fool. Thy eyes are burning and have black rings around them the color of thy stove,' and she whimpered like a baby."
"Your cousin is an egotist, Mrs. Rose," said Vesper, over his shoulder. "I will lend you some books."
"Agapit is as a brother," she replied, simply.
"I have been a good brother to thee," he said, "and I will never forget thee; not even when I go out into the world. Some day I will send for thee to live with me and my wife."