It was late in the afternoon when she came out, her eyes still languorous under their drooping lids, and found Ronald sitting alone upon the piazza.
"Why, I didn't expect to see you here," she said, in a tone of pleased surprise.
"You aren't very well acquainted with me," murmured Ronald, twisting uneasily in his chair.
"I'd like to be," remarked Beatrice, with a winning smile.
"Now's your chance, then, for I'm going to stay here until six o'clock."
"That's a long time," sighed the girl, with a sidelong glance at him. "It isn't much after four now."
He cleared his throat and coloured deeply. While he was casting about for a suitable reply, Forsyth appeared with his book. "Come and read to us, Cousin Rob," said Beatrice, sweetly.
Ronald looked daggers at him when he hesitated. "Can't," he answered shortly; "I'm going to read to myself."
He went back to his place under the poplars, in sight, but not intentionally within hearing, and Ronald was unreasonably vexed with him, deeming him outside the spirit, though within the letter of the bond.
"I'm sorry he wouldn't read to us," observed Beatrice. "Cousin Rob has such a deep, melodious voice, don't you think so?"