"Fleur," said Val, "can't ride much yet, but she's keen. Of course, her
father doesn't know a horse from a cart-wheel. Does your Dad ride?"
"He used to; but now he's--you know, he's--" He stopped, so hating the
word "old." His father was old, and yet not old; no--never!
"Quite," muttered Val. "I used to know your brother up at Oxford, ages
ago, the one who died in the Boer War. We had a fight in New College
Gardens. That was a queer business," he added, musing; "a good deal came
out of it."
Jon's eyes opened wide; all was pushing him toward historical research,
when his sister's voice said gently from the doorway:
"Come along, you two," and he rose, his heart pushing him toward
something far more modern.
Fleur having declared that it was "simply too wonderful to stay
indoors," they all went out. Moonlight was frosting the dew, and an old
sundial threw a long shadow. Two box hedges at right angles, dark
and square, barred off the orchard. Fleur turned through that angled
opening.
"Come on!" she called. Jon glanced at the others, and followed. She was
running among the trees like a ghost. All was lovely and foamlike above
her, and there was a scent of old trunks, and of nettles. She vanished.
He thought he had lost her, then almost ran into her standing quite
still.
"Isn't it jolly?" she cried, and Jon answered:
"Rather!"
She reached up, twisted off a blossom and, twirling it in her fingers,
said:
"I suppose I can call you Jon?"
"I should think so just."
"All right! But you know there's a feud between our families?"
Jon stammered: "Feud? Why?"
"It's ever so romantic and silly. That's why I pretended we hadn't
met. Shall we get up early to-morrow morning and go for a walk before
breakfast and have it out? I hate being slow about things, don't you?"
Jon murmured a rapturous assent.
"Six o'clock, then. I think your mother's beautiful"
Jon said fervently: "Yes, she is."
"I love all kinds of beauty," went on Fleur, "when it's exciting. I
don't like Greek things a bit."
"What! Not Euripides?"
"Euripides? Oh! no, I can't bear Greek plays; they're so long. I think
beauty's always swift. I like to look at one picture, for instance, and
then run off. I can't bear a lot of things together. Look!" She held
up her blossom in the moonlight. "That's better than all the orchard, I
think."
And, suddenly, with her other hand she caught Jon's.
"Of all things in the world, don't you think caution's the most awful?
Smell the moonlight!"