I glanced at Redmond; he was contemplating a portrait of myself at the age of fourteen.
"Shall we go?" Laura asked him.
"Nothing, thank you," he answered.
We all laughed, and Harry Lothrop said,—
"Redmond, my boy, how fond you are of pictures!"
Redmond, with an unmoved face, said,—
"Don't be absurd about my absent-mindedness. What were you saying?"
And he turned to me.
"Do you like our plan," I asked, "of going to the Lake House? There is a deep pond, a fine wood, a bridge,—perch, pickerel,—a one-story inn with a veranda,—ham and eggs, stewed quince, elderberry wine,—and a romantic road to ride over."
"I like it."