All that day and night Matilda brooded over Robert's strange behavior.
Nevertheless, she greeted him calmly when, the next day, he approached
while she was busily spinning before her door. Seeing Rose lying full
length upon the grass, idly plucking handfuls of it and flinging them
at Matilda, he hesitated. "Why do the feet of a lover lag?" Rose asked,
impudently looking up at Annys. Matilda colored. She talked with Annys,
while Rose looked on with an amused air. "Ah, Matilda, dear," she began
after an instant, "after all, didst thou well to plight thy troth to a
poor priest?"
"Wilt ever be serious?" asked her cousin, annoyed.
"I am as serious as a Bishop," she replied. "Indeed I have not seen him
kiss thee once. Of a truth I have not."
Matilda vowed she would leave if another word were said of such
nonsense. Rose smiled maliciously and watched the poor priest's set
face, while all sorts of pert sayings hovered on the end of her tongue.
"Old Silas died," announced Annys, gravely, "I have just come from
there."
"And how is dear Betty?"
"I did not get to her last night," he said in some confusion. Rose
laughed to herself. Matilda looked grieved. "Ah, the poor girl!" she
said, "she longed for you so."
"Oh, these lovers will be the death of me!" broke out Rose, no longer
able to contain herself. "Were I blessed with a lover, now, I vow it
would not be of corpses and dying girls we would talk!"
"Be quiet, Rose!" exclaimed Matilda, sternly for her, "we talk of
serious things."
"That's what I complain of!" pouted the irrepressible girl.
Matilda and Annys spoke together a few minutes in whispers.