She spoke to Lemuel; the law-student answered, “Thank you; I don't care if I do.”
Lemuel did not know whether to stay, nor what to say of Miss Swan's picture, and he thanked the young lady and remained standing.
“O Jessie, Jessie, Jessie!” cried Miss Swan.
The other went to her, tranquilly, as if used to such vehement appeals.
“Just see how my poor cow looks since I painted out that grass! She hasn't got a leg to stand on!”
The law-student did nothing but make jokes about the picture. “I think she looks pretty well for a cow that you must have had to study from a milk-can—nearest you could come to a cow in Boston.”
Miss Carver, the other young lady, ignored his joking, and after some criticisms on the picture, left him and Miss Swan to talk it over. She talked to Lemuel, and asked him if he had read a book he glanced at on the table, and seemed willing to make him feel at ease. But she did not. He thought she was very proud, and he believed she wanted him to go, but he did not know how to go. Her eyes were so still and pure; but they dwelt very coldly upon him. Her voice was like that look put into sound; it was rather high-pitched but very sweet and pure, and cold. He hardly knew what he said; he felt hot, and he waited for some chance to get away.
At last he heard Miss Swan saying, “Must you go, Mr. Berry? So soon!” and saw her giving the student her hand, with a bow of burlesque desolation.
Lemuel prepared to go too. All his rusticity came back upon him, and he said, “Well, I wish you good evening.”
It seemed to him that Miss Carver's still eyes looked a sort of starry scorn after him. He found that he had brought away the book they had been talking about, and he was a long time in question whether he had better take it back at once, or give it to her when she came to breakfast.