"About you and me!" she said, incensed. "You know perfectly well that I've been obliged to avoid being alone with you."
"Why?"
"Because," she said, intensely annoyed, "I am employed by your parents, and you are an only son of Mr. Jacob Rivett.... Is that unmistakable?"
He said nothing.
She went on: "You know I like you, Jack. You seem to like me. If you do, you'll understand that this—this continually seeking me out, separating me from the others, isn't fair to me.... I'm trying not to talk nonsense about it. I know you mean nothing but kindness; but it isn't wise, and it is not agreeable, either. So let us enjoy our very delightful friendship as freely among others as we do when alone together—" She stopped abruptly, blushed to her hair, furious at herself, astonished that her tongue could have blundered so. The next instant she understood that he was too decent to notice her blunder. Indeed, to look at him, she almost persuaded herself that he had not even heard her speak, so coolly remote were his eyes, so preoccupied his air as he sat facing the far hills, blue in the July haze.
Presently he looked up at her.
"What was it you were lecturing me about?" he asked cheerfully.
"About our twosing, Jack."
"Did you say you did prefer it, or otherwise?"
"Otherwise—you monkey!" she said, laughing, free of the restraint and of the bright color that had made even her neck hot.