nk it good
for him; though Mrs. West's one idea apparently is to do what will
please him, not fussily, but gently and sweetly; so that must be what
men like. I should pity him if he lived with Grandma! I suppose it is my
living with her for so long which makes me feel like going against
strong, dictatorial people, just to see what they will do. With him,
that plan would be exciting. It is ungrateful of me, but I long to
contradict him about something, it doesn't matter what, and try my
naughty little strength against his, like a headstrong, conceited mouse
pitting itself against a lion.

I had no inclination to contradict or fight with Mr. Norman. But he has
pathetic, wistful eyes, asking for kindness, whereas Mr. Somerled's look
bored with things, as if he needed waking up.

I thought these thoughts while he went on to remind me more gently, that
he'd promised to motor me to Edinburgh, and that he had quite a strong
weakness for not breaking promises.

"But I give you back this one unbroken, not even cracked," said I. "So
that's different."

"I don't choose to take it back," said he. "You'll humiliate me if you
refuse to go to Edinburgh in my car--with a competent chaperon, of
course."

"A chaperon! My gracious!" I couldn't help laughing. "Aren't you
chaperon enough--a great big, grown-up man?"

"I suppose you think me very old," said he; "and so I am, compared to
you; but I'm afraid--no, I'm _not_ afraid--to tell you the truth, I'm
extremely glad that I haven't come yet to the chaperon age."

"What is the chaperon age for a man?" I inquired.

"Seventy."

"And you won't be that for a long time," I added dreamily, wondering how
old he really was.

For an instant his eyes waked up thoroughly, and he looked as if he were
in a fury; then he burst out laughing. But his brown face was rather red
when he asked if I would mind mentioning my honest impression of his
age.

I thought a minute, and then said that perhaps he might be--well, nearly
thirty. He laughed again, and seemed relieved, but wanted to know if
thirty struck me as old or young. I didn't know what to answer, not to
be impolite, so I said presently that I had always thought of thirty as
being the year when you were not middle-aged yet, though anything that
happened to you _after_ your thirtieth birthday couldn't matter.
"Still," I went on, "you look young. Only, there's something important
and decided about you, as if you must have been grown up fo