"So you're that other savage whose manners I'm supposed to smooth, are you?" she asked abruptly, coming to a stop within three feet of him, and regarding him carefully, her hands clasped behind her.
"Please don't tease the animals," Grant returned, in the same impersonal tone which she had seen fit to employ--but his eyes turned for a sidelong glance at her, although he appeared to be watching the trout rise lazily to the insects skimming over the surface of the water.
"I'm supposed to be nice to you--par-TIC-ularly nice--because you need it most. I dare say you do, judging from what I've seen of you. At any rate, I've promised. But I just want you to understand that I'm not going to mean one single bit of it. I don't like you--I can't endure you!--and if I'm nice, it will just be because I've promised Aunt Phoebe. You're not to take my politeness at its face value, for back of it I shall dislike you all the time."
Grant's lips twitched, and there was a covert twinkle in his eyes, though he looked around him with elaborate surprise.
"It's early in the day for mosquitoes," he drawled; "but I was sure I heard one buzzing somewhere close."
"Aunt Phoebe ought to get a street roller to smooth your manners," Evadna observed pointedly.
"Instead it's as if she hung her picture of a Christmas angel up before the wolf's den, eh?" he suggested calmly, betraying his Indian blood in the unconsciously symbolic form of expression. "No doubt the wolf's nature will be greatly benefited--his teeth will be dulled for his prey, his voice softened for the nightcry--if he should ever, by chance, discover that the Christmas angel is there."
"I don't think he'll be long in making the discovery." The blue of Evadna's eyes darkened and darkened until they were almost black. "Christmas angel,--well, I like that! Much you know about angels."
Grant turned his head indolently and regarded her.
"If it isn't a Christmas angel--they're always very blue and very golden, and pinky-whitey--if it isn't a Christmas angel, for the Lord's sake what is it?" He gave his head a slight shake, as if the problem was beyond his solving, and flicked the ashes from his cigarette.
"Oh, I could pinch you!" She gritted her teeth to prove she meant what she said.
"It says it could pinch me." Grant lazily addressed the trout. "I wonder why it didn't, then, when it was being squashed?"
"I just wish to goodness I had! Only I suppose Aunt Phoebe--"
"I do believe it's got a temper. I wonder, now, if it could be a LIVE angel?" Grant spoke to the softly swaying poplars.