it was apparent as he swung himself after Katherine, that accident and not
disease had caused his lameness.

Rosalind, studying her hymn all unconscious of observation, was a pleasant
sight.

"Isn't she pretty?" whispered Katherine, but Maurice silenced her so
sternly she concluded he did not agree with her.

In reality he thought very much as she did, although he would not have
used the same adjective. There was something unusual about this girl. Why
it was, he did not understand, but she seemed somehow to belong in a
special way to the sweet old garden with its June roses. Maurice had
fancies that would have astonished Katherine beyond measure if she could
have known anything about them. But how was she to know when he pinched
her arm and looked sternly indifferent?

The tea bell called them back to the house; on the way Katherine's
enthusiasm burst forth afresh.

"Isn't she sweet? and such a beautiful name--Rosalind. How old do you
think she is? and do you suppose she is going to live there? Oh, Maurice,
shouldn't you be afraid of Mrs. Whittredge?"

"I don't know anything about her," Maurice replied, forgetting for the
moment that he bad been pretending to know a great deal.

"I should like to have my hair tied on top of my head with a big ribbon
bow as hers is," continued Katherine, who would innocently persist in
laying herself open to brotherly scorn.