“Poor young man! I suppose he’ll die of overwork—or of unrequited love,” suggested Olive.
“He isn’t in love with me, if that’s what you’re hinting at so darkly. He thinks he has to be polite to me on Uncle Rodney’s account.”
“Of course, we all know that Uncle Rodney would like to be the good uncle of the story-books and make a match between you. Morris Leighton is his protégé. He wants you and Mr. Leighton to spend his money when he’s gone. Everybody knows that.”
“I hope everybody does know it; the more people you disappoint the more fun! He’s a good young man.”
“Zelda Dameron, why do you speak of goodness and of good people in that way? It’s grown noticeable. One would think you the wickedest person in the world to hear you talk. And yet you are the kindest girl—the best-hearted person that I ever knew!”
Olive continued to swing herself back and forth. There were many things about Zelda that mystified her; but she had asked a question that had been often in her mind and heart.
“One might think, to hear you talk, that you really would like to turn all the beatitudes upside down,” she added.
“I’m queer; I’m a Merriam; that’s what’s the matter with me. I suppose all the sins that you might have had, and all the rest of the family, are concentrated in me.”
Zelda was looking out through the woodland, with her eyes away from Olive, and she spoke dolefully. Her cousin’s question had surprised her. She wished no one to know how her heart revolted against the goodness of the world; she must be very careful lest some one should guess her secret.
She welcomed just then the sight of her uncle’s figure approaching through the trees.