"We'll make the Pavilion if we can, old girl," he told her, and as if she understood, she went up and up in a straight line, disregarding the temptation of side tours into bush and bramble.
George and Becky had finished their tea. There had been some rather delectable sweet biscuit which Kemp kept on hand for such occasions, and there was a small round box of glacé nuts, which George had insisted that Becky must keep. The box was of blue silk set off by gold lace and small pink roses.
"Blue is your color," George had said as he presented it.
"That's what Randy says."
"You are always talking of Randy."
She looked her surprise. "I've always known him."
"Is he in love with you?"
She set down the box and looked at him. "Randy is only a boy. I am very fond of him. But we aren't either of us—silly."
She brought the last sentence out with such scorn that George had a moment of startled amaze.