"Say that to Maud? No, thank you; I'm never rude to Maud."

"Only to me?"

"Well, of course. You told me to be; and if it comes to that, you were
dashed rude to me yourself just now. And I was doing my level best for
you; I was feeling most awfully sorry for you; I never supposed you were
only trying it on with me." He paused and swung his stick. "It was all
gammon then, about your being lonely and that?" He stood still and
looked at her.

Leo was silent.

"It wasn't very nice of you to take me in, and lead me on, if you meant
all the time to round on me in the end," said Val, in a voice that made
her still more uncomfortable. "I didn't think you were that sort, Leo."

An inaudible murmur, Leo's head turned the other way.

"You can't say you didn't," persisted Val. "You were almost crying; and
so then I thought, 'Hang it all, I may as well now as any time,' meaning
to--to be kind and cheer you up."

She could not help it; after one violent effort, Leo fell upon the bank,
and rocked to and fro with merriment:--"Oh, Val!--oh, Val!"

But presently she put out her hand, and caught and held his; and she sat
up and looked into his face with such brimming, dancing, and withal
affectionate eyes, that albeit somewhat puzzled and astonished, he
smiled back. "I suppose it was rather funny, but I supposed that was the
way to do."

"But you see I wasn't prepared, Val!"

"Well, I tell you I hadn't thought of it myself."

"Wait a minute, till I can speak," Leo wiped her eyes, and patted the
moss beside her. "Sit down--it's dry on this stone--and we'll have it
out. You think it was all a sham, a mere bid for pity, what I said just
now? It wasn't. But, Val, I can't exactly tell you what it was. It just
had to come out, it had been kept in so long. I'm better now. You _have_
cheered me up, only--" again laughter stirred within--"only you might
have done it cheaper. You needn't have----"

"Gone such a mucker over it?" suggested he.

Yes, that was what she meant. His sympathy, his indulgent understanding
of her troubles, above all, his renewal of good-fellowship was enough;
she did not require his heart and hand, and with tact insinuated that he
might retain them.

"You know you don't want to marry, Val."

"I've got to, though," said he.

"Why have you got to? Can't you go on as you are?"

"Gran says not. When she dies----"

"I see, you would be alone. But then, she may live long enough."

"That's what I say. There'