She laughed, and there was something hidden in the laugh that vexed him; but she said, politely enough, the next moment:
“Now you will read to me, will you not?”
“Pardon me; I would rather talk to you. When are you going to the White?”
But he had taken the book from her hands, and was turning the leaves while he spoke. Molly answered, reluctantly:
“I—don’t know. Aunt Thalia said something about—about waiting until you got ready.”
“How kind! I shall be delighted. I can go in about three days, I should say. But you don’t look very glad at the thought of my company.”
“I would as soon excuse you,” she replied, with her usual frankness.
He frowned, but would not answer, and in a minute began to read aloud, as it seemed, at random:
“‘She was not as pretty as women I know,
And yet all your best made of sunshine and snow