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           WhenhehadaskedherifMeggiemightusehismountsalso,shecouldnotverywellobject.Thegirlwasherniece,andhewasright.Sheoughttobeabletoridedecently.

           WitheverybitterboneinherswollenoldbodyMaryCarsonhadwishedshehadbeenabletorefuse,orelseridewiththem.Butshecouldneitherrefusenorhoistherselfonahorseanymore.Anditgalledhertoseethemnow,strollingacrossthelawntogether,themaninhisbreechesandkneebootsandwhiteshirtasgracefulasadancer,thegirlinherjodhpursslimandboyishlybeautiful.Theyradiatedaneasyfriendship;forthemillionthtimeMaryCarsonwonderedwhynoonesaveshedeploredtheirclose,almostintimaterelationship.Paddythoughtitwonderful,Fee—logthatshewas!—saidnothing,asusual,whiletheboystreatedthemasbrotherandsister.WasitbecauseshelovedRalphdeBricassartherselfthatshesawwhatnooneelsesaw?Ordidsheimagineit,wastherereallynothingsavethefriendshipofamaninhismiddlethirtiesforagirlnotyetallthewayintowomanhood?Piffle!Nomaninhismiddlethirties,evenRalphdeBricassart,couldfailtoseetheunfoldingrose.EvenRalphdeBricassart?Hah!EspeciallyRalphdeBricassart!Nothingevermissedthatman.

           Herhandsweretrembling;thepensprinkleddark-bluedropsacrossthebottomofthepaper.Thegnarledfingerpluckedanothersheetfromapigeonhole,dippedthepeninthestandishagain,andrewrotethewordsassurelyasthefirsttime.Thensheheavedherselftoherfeetandmovedherbulktothedoor.