“Bruin tickles little girls who ask too many questions.”
In the midst of her struggles and her laughter his eyes met Eve’s, and found them steady and unabashed, yet full of a vivid self-consciousness. They glimmered when they met his, sending a mesmeric thrill through him, and for the moment he could not look away. It was as though the child had flashed a mysterious light into the eyes of both, and uttered some deep nature cry that had startled them in the midst of their playfulness. Canterton’s eyes seemed to become bluer, and more intent, and Eve’s mouth had a tremulous tenderness.
Lynette was a young lady of dignity, and Canterton was reproved.
“Look how you’ve rumpled my dress, daddy.”
“I apologise. Supposing we go for a ramble, and call for our baggage on the way back.”
Both Eve and Canterton rose, and Lynette came between them, holding each by the hand. They wandered through the Wilderness and down by the pollard pool, where the swallows skimmed the still water. Lynette was mute, sharing the half dreamy solemnity of her elders. The playfulness was out of the day, and even the child felt serious.
It was past six when they returned to the garden, and Lynette, whose supper hour was due, hugged Eve hard as she said good-bye.
“You will write to me, Miss Eve, dear.”
“Yes, I’ll write.”
She found that Canterton had not come to the point of saying good-bye. He walked on with her down one of the nursery roads between groups of rare conifers.