“Surely. Riding and swimming.”
“Ah! I THOUGHT—” And he was silent.
“What did you think?”
“Well, I thought somehow you were a good swimmer.”
“Why?”
Jon said with embarrassment:
“By your eyes—”
“What! Are they fishy?”
Jon laughed.
“Not exactly. They’re like a water nymph’s.”
“I don’t just know if that’s a compliment.”
“Of course it is.”
“I thought nymphs weren’t respectable.”
“Oh! WATER nymphs—very! Shy, of course.”
“Do you have many in England?”
“No. As a matter of fact I’ve never seen one before.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Just a general sense of what’s fitting.”
“I suppose you had a classical education. Don’t you all have that in England?”
“Far from it.”
“And how do you like America, Mr. Forsyte?”
“Very much. I get homesick sometimes.”
“I’d love to travel.”
“You never have?”
She shook her head. “I just stay at home and look after things. But I reckon we’ll have to sell the old home—cotton doesn’t pay any more.”
“I grow peaches near Southern Pines, you know, up in North Carolina; that’s paying at present.”
“D’you live there alone?”
“No; with my mother.”
“Is she English?”
“Yes.”
“Have you a father?”
“He died four years ago.”
“Francis and I have been orphans ten years.”
“I wish you’d both come and stay with us some day; my mother would be awfully glad.”
“Is she like you?”
Jon laughed.
“No. She’s beautiful.”
The eyes regarded him gravely, the lips smiled faintly.
“I’d just love to come, but Francis and I can’t ever be away together.”
“But,” said Jon, “you’re both here.”
“We go back tomorrow; I wanted to see Camden.” The eyes resumed their steady consideration of Jon’s face. “Won’t you come back with us and see our home—it’s old? Francis would like to have you come.”
“Do you always know what your brother would like?”
“Surely.”
“That must be jolly. But do you really mean you want me?”
“I certainly do.”
“I’d enjoy it awfully; I hate hotels. I mean—well, you know—” But as HE didn’t, he was not so sure that she did.
She touched her horse, and the single-footing animal broke into a canter.
Along the alleys of the eternal pinewood the sun was in their eyes; a warmed scent rose from pine needles, gum and herbs; the going was sandy and soft; the horses in good mood. Jon felt happy. This girl had strange eyes, enticing; and she rode better even than the Blair girls.
“I suppose all the English ride well?” she said.