They taught that cold disdain of man, I supposed, as
a required study at St. Agatha's.
"Oh, certainly! Won't you allow me?"
"Thank you, no!"
I was relieved, to tell the truth, for I had been out of
the world for most of that period in which a youngster
perfects himself in such graces as the putting on of a
girl's overshoes. She took the damp bit of rubber-a
wet overshoe, even if small and hallowed by associations,
isn't pretty-as Venus might have received a soft-shell
crab from the hand of a fresh young merman. I was
between her and the steps to which her eyes turned longingly.
"Of course, if you won't accept my apology I can't
do anything about it; but I hope you understand that
I'm sincere and humble, and anxious to be forgiven."
"You seem to be making a good deal of a small matter-"
"I wasn't referring to the overshoe!" I said.
She did not relent.
"If you'll only go away-"
She rested one hand against the corner of the boat-house
while she put on the overshoe. She wore, I noticed,
brown gloves with cuffs.
"How can I go away! You children are always leaving
things about for me to pick up. I'm perfectly worn
out carrying some girl's beads about with me; and I
spoiled a good glove on your overshoe."
"I'll relieve you of the beads, too, if you please."
And her tone measurably reduced my stature.
She thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat and
shook the tam-o'-shanter slightly, to establish it in a
more comfortable spot on her head. The beads had been
in my corduroy coat since I found them. I drew them
out and gave them to her.
"Thank you; thank you very much."
"Of course they are yours, Miss-"
She thrust them into her pocket.
"Of course they're mine," she said indignantly, and
turned to go.
"We'll waive proof of property and that sort of thing,"
I remarked, with, I fear, the hope of detaining her.
"I'm sorry not to establish a more neighborly feeling
with St. Agatha's. The stone wall may seem formidable,
but it's not of my building. I must open the gate.
That wall's a trifle steep for climbing."
I was amusing myself with the idea that my identity
was a dark mystery to her. I had read English novels
in which the young lord of the manor is always mistaken
for the game-keeper's son by the pretty daughter
of the curate who has come home from school to be the
belle of the county. But my lady of the red tam-o'-shanter
was not a creature of illusions.
"It serves a very good purpose-the wall, I mean-
Mr. Glenarm."
She was walking down the steps and I followed. I
am not a man to suffer a lost school-girl to cross my
lands unattended in a snow-storm; and the piazza of a
boat-house is not, I submit, a pleasant loafing-place on
a winter day. She marched before me, her hands in her
pockets-I liked her particularly that way-with an
easy swing and a light and certain step. Her remark
about the wall did not encourage further conversation
and I fell back upon the poets.