“As a general rule,” he explained to his chin-lathered reflection in the morning, “it isn’t safe to cross an old trail twice. Things remind one of things, and a cold wind gets up, and you feel sad; but this is an exception to every rule that ever was. I’ll go to Maisie at once.”
Fortunately, the red-haired girl was out shopping when he arrived, and Maisie in a paint-spattered blouse was warring with her canvas. She was not pleased to see him; for week-day visits were a stretch of the bond; and it needed all his courage to explain his errand.
“I know you’ve been working too hard,” he concluded, with an air of authority. “If you do that, you’ll break down. You had much better come.”
“Where?” said Maisie, wearily. She had been standing before her easel too long, and was very tired.
“Anywhere you please. We’ll take a train to-morrow and see where it stops. We’ll have lunch somewhere, and I’ll bring you back in the evening.”
“If there’s a good working light to-morrow, I lose a day.” Maisie balanced the heavy white chestnut palette irresolutely.
Dick bit back an oath that was hurrying to his lips. He had not yet learned patience with the maiden to whom her work was all in all.
“You’ll lose ever so many more, dear, if you use every hour of working light. Overwork’s only murderous idleness. Don’t be unreasonable. I’ll call for you to-morrow after breakfast early.”
“But surely you are going to ask——”
“No, I am not. I want you and nobody else. Besides, she hates me as much as I hate her. She won’t care to come. To-morrow, then; and pray that we get sunshine.”