“Stunning, I should say!” murmured Vic, looking at her with adoring eyes.
And a truly wonderful picture the girl made, in her dainty muslin frock, her bold red hair tossed in a splendid aureole about her face. Care-free, heart-free, as she flashed from her hearty blue eyes her saucy and bewitching glances at her partner's face, her mother sighed, thinking that her baby girl was swiftly slipping away from her and forever into that wider world of womanhood where others would claim her.
In lovely contrast stood her sister, dressed in flannel skirt and sweater of old gold silk, fair, tall, beautiful, a delicate grace in every line of her body and a proud, yet gentle strength in every feature of her face. There dwelt in her deep blue eyes a look of hidden, mysterious power which had wrought in her mother a certain fear of her eldest daughter. The mother never quite knew what to expect from Adrien. Yet, for all, she carried an assured confidence that whatever she might do, her daughter never would shame the high traditions of her race.
The long shadows from the tall elms lay across the velvet sward of the Rectory lawn. The heat of the early June day had given place to the cool air of the evening. The exquisitely delicate colouring from the setting sun flooded the sky overhead and deepened into blues and purples behind the elms and the church spire. A deep peace had fallen upon the world except that from the topmost bough of the tallest elm tree a robin sang, pouring his very heart out in a song of joyous optimism.
The little group, disposed upon the lawn according to their various desires, stood and sat looking up at the brave little songster.
“How happy he is,” said Mrs. Templeton, a wistful cadence of sadness in her voice.
“I wonder if he is, Mamma. Perhaps he is only pretending,” said Adrien.
“Cheerio, old chap!” cried Vic, waving his hand at the gallant little songster. “You are a regular grouch killer.”
“He has no troubles,” said Mrs. Templeton, with a sigh.
“I wonder, Mamma. Or is he just bluffing us all?”