“So could I,” said Harry, turning his sparkling eyes upon her. “With you I could live anywhere.”
“Let us draw nearer,” continued Kitty, “and speak to the young woman who is feeding the turkeys by the door; and quite a pretty girl she is,” Kitty added in an undertone, as Mabel Willey turned towards them.
“Yes, if one admires a dark complexion,” said Harry.
“And buried among these hills!” continued Kitty compassionately. “But I forgot what I said a moment ago; if I could be happy here with you, dear Harry, why, she may have a lover too, and not pine one bit for city life.”
The genial way in which Mabel returned their greeting quite won Kitty’s heart, while Harry inwardly confessed that, although he did not like brunettes, she was the handsomest one he had ever seen. And when presently he glanced down at her bare feet she did not blush, but quietly remarked:
“I have been gathering lilies, sir, at the pond, and I had to wade in after them.”
But Harry thought no excuse was needed; for Mabel’s foot was as perfectly shaped as her hand—a sculptor might have chosen it for a model.
“What a sweet home you have!” observed Kitty. “And the swallows love it, too; how many there are skimming over the grass!”
“’Tis not my home,” returned Mabel. “I am here only on a visit to my grandfather.”
“Indeed! Well, may I ask where your home is?” continued Kitty.