He grimaced. "I don't remember. Why talk about it? It wasn't much. Cakes and ale—joie de vivre—chimes at midnight—same old song." He laughed. "I gather that you've been rusticated, too."
Hagar winced. "Don't!... Let's laugh about other things. You'll break your family's hearts at Hawk Nest."
"Old Miss said in a letter which mother showed me that you were breaking hers. What kind of a fellow is he, Hagar?—Like me?"
Hagar looked at him gravely. "Not in the least. How long are you going to stay at Hawk Nest?"
"Oh, a month! I'm coming to see you every other day."
"Are you?"
"I am. If I could draw I'd like to draw you just as you look now—half marquise, half dryad—sitting before your own front door!"
"Well, you can't draw," said Hagar. "And it's getting cold, and the dryad is going home."
"All right," said Ralph. "I'm going, too. I've come to spend the night."