"Could you not manage not to show so plainly what you feel?" asked Vance in his cousin's little ear, as they left the table. "Pray believe that I am not a party to the infliction put upon you."
They had strolled bareheaded out under the trees shading the lawn about the house.
"Shall we never have done quarrelling?" said Eve, wearily. "Just as I think I begin to feel kindly toward you, something happens, and I break down again."
"Were we not moderately successful last night, when I assumed to be somebody else?" he asked.
"Yes; that is better. I will treat you as I would any other man stopping here—any one not of your exalted class, I mean."
"That was a quite unnecessary taunt. But I will allow it to pass if you agree for to-day—until the gentlemen return—to treat me as you would Mr. Ralph Corbin, for example."
"What do you mean?" she asked, quickly. "Ralph is the dearest, most obliging cousin I have, and I impose upon him dreadfully. If he were here, I should begin by sending him indoors to fetch my hat and parasol from the hall rack, and a new magazine I left in the window-seat, and tell him to call the dogs to come with us—What! you can't intend to condescend to wait upon a mere girl, a country cousin?"
He was off and back again with the articles demanded, showing no enmity in the smile offered with them to her acceptance. But he did not at once surrender the periodical, or until he had satisfied himself of the contents of the page held open by a marker of beaten silver.
"You don't mind my looking at what you read?" he asked.
"If you like. It is some verses—not what you would care for, in the least, but they have given me great pleasure."