'Mr. Rollo's innocent way of talking about commands would deceive anybody but me,' said Wych Hazel. 'But I am learning to know him by slow and painful degrees.'
The only answer to this was a mischievous smile, which did not embolden further charges. But whether boldly or not, Hazel went on with a fair show at least of bravery.
'What was that I was told so impressively yesterday?' she said. ' "There are circumstances where fear is highly commendable in a woman, when it is yet not desirable in a man." And after all that, did you not speed away like a very poltroon, and leave me to face everything by myself? Confess, Mr. Rollo!' The demure eyes were brimming with fun.
'How much did you have to face?' asked the gentleman taking another roll.
'Ten people and two catechisms. And if Madame Lasalle says true—Have you a sketching club here? and is she its president?'
'We have no such club—and it has no such president—and whether
Madame Lasalle says true is a matter entirely unknown to me.
Do you say you are going fishing to-day, Miss Kennedy?'
'Mr. Falkirk told Madame Lasalle I might. And she is to "tell me everything,"—fill up her sketches, I suppose; so the sport may be extensive. Yesterday her pencil marks were delightfully indistinct, and made the most charming confusion between cats and dogs and canary birds. Miss Maryland was a preacher, her father the personification of imprudence, and you—'
She had run on in a sort of gleeful play, not at all guessing what the pencil marks really meant, and stopped short now only for fear her play might chafe.
'What was I?' said Rollo, with a quietness that was evidently careless.
'You,' said Wych Hazel impressively, 'were (in a general way) a Norwegian, a Dane,—making your way everywhere and laying waste the country.'