Cecile said: "I hope that Dorothy will marry him soon. I want to see how
she looks in this petticoat."
"Ho!" sneered Harry, "you just want to wear one like it and be a
bridesmaid and primp and give yourself airs. I know you!"
"Sir George Covert is a good fellow," remarked Ruyven, with a
patronizing nod at Dorothy; "but I always said he was too old for you.
You should see how gray are his temples when he wears no powder."
"He has fine eyes," murmured Cecile.
"He's too old; he's forty," repeated Ruyven.
"His legs are shapely," added Cecile, sentimentally.
Dorothy gave a despairing upward glance at me. "Are these children not
silly?" she said, with a little shrug.
"We may be children, and we may be silly," said Ruyven, "but if we were
you we'd wed our cousin Ormond."
"All of you together?" inquired Dorothy.
"You know what I mean," he snapped.
"Why don't you?" demanded Harry, vaguely, twitching Dorothy by the
apron.
"Do what?"
"Wed our cousin Ormond."
"But he has not asked me," she said, smiling.
Harry turned to me and took my arm affectionately in his.
"You will ask her, won't you?" he murmured. "She's very nice when she
chooses."
"She wouldn't have me," I said, laughing.
"Oh yes, she would; and then you need never leave us, which would be
pleasant for all, I think. Won't you ask her, cousin?"
"You ask her," I said.
"Dorothy," he broke out, eagerly. "You will wed him, won't you? Our
cousin Ormond says he will if you will. And I'll tell Sir George that
it's just a family matter, and, besides, he's too old--"
"Yes, tell Sir George that," sneered Ruyven, who had listened in an
embarrassment that certainly Dorothy had not betrayed. "You're a great
fool, Harry. Don't you know that when people want to wed they ask each
other's permission to ask each other's father, and then their fathers
ask each other, and then they ask each--"
"Other!" cried Dorothy, laughing deliciously. "Oh, Ruyven, Ruyven, you
certainly will be the death of me!"
"All the same," said Harry, sullenly, "our cousin wishes to wed you."
"Do you?" asked Dorothy, raising her amused eyes to me.
"I fear I come too late," I said, forcing a smile I was not inclined to.
"Ah, yes; too late," she sighed, pretending a doleful mien.
"Why?" demanded Harry, blankly.
Dorothy shook her head. "Sir George would never permit me such a
liberty. If he would, our cousin Ormond and I could wed at once; you see
I have my bride's stockings here; Cecile could do my hair, Sammy carry
my prayer-book, Benny my train, Ruyven read the service--"
Harry, flushing at the shout of laughter, gave Dorothy a dark look,
turned and eyed me, then scowled again at Dorothy.
"All the same," he said, slowly, "you're a great goose not to wed
him.... And you'll be sorry ... when he's dead!"
At this veiled prophecy of my approaching dissolution, all were silent
save Dorothy and Ruyven, whose fresh laughter rang out peal on peal.
"Laugh," said Harry, gloomily; "but you won't laugh when he's killed in
the war, ... and scalped, too."
Ruyven, suddenly sober, looked up at me. Dorothy bent over her
needle-work and examined it attentively.
"Are you going to the war?" asked Cecile, plaintively.
"Of course he's going; so am I," replied Ruyven, striking a careless
pose against a pillar.
"On which side, Ruyven?" inquired Dorothy, sorting her silks.
"On my cousin's side, of course," he said, uneasily.
"Which side is that?" asked Cecile.
Confused, flushing painfully, the boy looked at me; and I rescued him,
saying, "We'll talk that over when we ride bounds this afternoon. Ruyven
and I understand each other, don't we, Ruyven?"
He gave me a grateful glance. "Yes," he said, shyly.
Sir George Covert, a trifle pallid, but bland and urbane, strolled out
to the porch, saluting us gracefully. He paused beside Dorothy, who
slipped her needle through her work and held out her hand for him
to salute.
"Are you also going to the wars?" she asked, with a friendly smile.
"Where are they?" he inquired, pretending a fierce eagerness. "Point out
some wars and I'll go to 'em post haste!"
"They're all around us," said Sammy, solemnly.
"Then we'd best get to horse and lose no time, Mr. Ormond," he observed,
passing his arm through mine. In a lower voice he added: "Headache?"
"Oh no," I said, hastily.
"Lucky dog. Sir Lupus lies as though struck by lightning. I'm all
a-quiver, too. A man of my years is a fool to do such things. But I do,
Ormond, I do; ass that I am. Do you ride bounds with Sir Lupus?"
"If he desires it," I said.
"Then I'll see you when you pass my villa on the Vlaie, where you'll
find a glass of wine waiting. Do you ride, Miss Dorothy?"
"Yes," she said.
A stable lad brought his horse to the porch. He took leave of Dorothy
with a grace that charmed even me; yet, in his bearing towards her I
could detect the tender pride he had in her, and that left me cold and
thoughtful.
All liked him, though none appeared to regard him exactly as a kinsman,
nor accorded him that vague shade of intimacy which is felt in kinship,
not in comradeship alone, and which they already accorded me.
Dorothy walked with him to the stockade gate, the stable lad following
with his horse; and I saw them stand there in low-voiced conversation,
he lounging and switching at the weeds with his riding-crop; she, head
bent, turning the gold thimble over and over between her fingers. And I
wondered what they were saying.
Presently he mounted and rode away, a graceful, manly figure in the
saddle, and not turning like a fop to blow a kiss at his betrothed, nor
spurring his horse to show his skill--for which I coldly respected him.
Harry, Cecile, and the children gathered their paints and books and
went into the house, demanding that I should follow.
"Dorothy is beckoning us," observed Ruyven, gathering up his paints.