“Oh, did you ride at school? I don’t think that could be much fun—all girls. Picnics are not very much fun either.”
“I never saw one. I should think it would be nice,” said Lucy, with some doubt.
“Oh, well, perhaps if you were never at one before— I dare say it will be nice when—when you are there, Miss Trevor,” said Ray, growing very red; “but then you see I never went with you before.”
Lucy looked at him with some surprise, totally unable to divine why he should flourish so wildly the croquet-mallet he was carrying, and blush and stammer so much. She was entirely unaware that she had assisted at the production of Raymond’s first compliment. She took it very quietly, not knowing its importance.
“My mother thinks Emmie can ride,” he went on, after a confused pause; “but she can’t a bit. Some girls are famous—take fences, and everything you can put before them. There are the Morton girls— I suppose you know the Mortons?”
“I don’t know any one—except the girls who were at school.”
“Oh, there were some great swells, were there not,” said Raymond, “at that school?”
Perhaps for the first time Lucy felt a little pleasure in repeating the names of her school-fellows, information which Raymond received with awe.
“That’s a cut above us,” he said; “they were all awfully angry at home because the old ladies wouldn’t have Emmie. I suppose you were different.”
“It was because of my having so much money,” said Lucy, calmly. “Oh, but you need not laugh. Mrs. Stone said a girl with a great deal of money wanted more training.”