Maurice scorned such logic, but her eyes were so merry it was with an effort he kept himself from smiling.
"Katherine is such a bother," he said.
"I like Katherine; she is so pleasant," Rosalind observed, with a side glance at her companion.
"Perhaps you'd rather go with her and have me stay at home?" he suggested, with much dignity.
"And shell peas?" Rosalind laughed.
What a provoking girl this was! And yet he liked her, and somehow at the vision of himself shelling peas he couldn't help laughing, too, and thus harmony was restored.
After climbing the hill, a good deal of exertion for Maurice with his crutch, they paused to rest on the steps leading up from the gate of the Gilpin place.
Rosalind, looking at the dignified mansion among the trees, felt the atmosphere of mysterious interest that always surrounds a closed and deserted house, particularly an old one upon which several generations have left their impress. She thought of the young and lovely Patricia, and the sailor lover who never came back.
"Do you know, I feel very sorry for Aunt Patricia, Maurice. To have some one you love never come back—it must be very hard. I can understand a little now since father and cousin Louis went away. Miss Betty said she bore it bravely, too."
"It was a long time ago," said Maurice, feeling that it was a waste of emotion to grieve over things that had happened so far back in the past.