He would tell her something in confidence; something that he was glad of; he wanted her to know it while it was yet a secret; she had not the least guess what it could be; but it was very “nice” already.  Rosamond always did rather like to be told things first; to have her friends confide in and consult with her, and rely upon her sympathy; she did not stop to separate the old feeling which she was quite aware of in herself, from something new that made it especially beautiful that Kenneth Kincaid should so confide and rely.

Rosamond was likely to have more told her to-night than she quite dreamed of.

“Desire!”

They heard Mrs. Ledwith’s voice far back among the trees.

Desire answered.

“I want you, dear!”

“Something about shawls and baskets, I suppose,” said Desire, turning round, perhaps a little the more readily that Kenneth was beside her now, going back also.

Dorris and Oswald Megilp, finding there was a move to return, and being behind Desire in the pathway, turned also, as people will who have no especial motive for going one way rather than another; and so it happened that after all Rosamond and Archie Mucklegrand walked on down the bank to the river together, by themselves.

Archie’s good humor returned quickly.

“I am glad they are gone; it was such a fuss having so many,” he said.

“We shall have to go back directly; they are beginning to break up,” said Rosamond.

And then, coming out to the opening by the water, she began to talk rather fast about the prettiness of the view, and to point out the bridge, and the mills, and the shadow of East Hill upon the water, and the curve of the opposite shore, and the dip of the shrubs and their arched reflections.  She seemed quite determined to have all the talk to herself.

Archie Mucklegrand played with his stick, and twisted the end of his moustache.  Men never ought to allow themselves to learn that trick.  It always comes back upon them when it makes them look most foolish.

Archie said nothing, because there was so much he wanted to say, and he did not know how to begin.

He knew his mother and sister would not like it,—­as long as they could help it, certainly,—­therefore he had suddenly made up his mind that there should be no such interval.  He could do as he pleased; was he not Sir Archibald?  And there was his Boston grandfather’s property, too, of which a large share had been left outright to him; and he had been twenty-one these six months.  There was nothing to hinder; and he meant to tell Rosamond Holabird that he liked her better than any other girl in the world.  Somebody else would be telling her so, if he didn’t; he could see how they all came round her; perhaps it might be that tall, quiet, cheeky looking fellow,—­that Kincaid.  He would be before him, at any rate.

So he stood and twisted his moustache, and said nothing,—­nothing, I mean, except mere little words of assent and echo to Rosamond’s chatter about the pretty view.