Читать книгу Lantern Marsh онлайн

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“I guess it’s true enough,” she went on presently, pulling a string of yarn from the revolving ball in her lap. “And then people talk about Dave McBratney for getting converted. It was the best thing he ever done! If I was a son of William Henry’s I’d get converted before you could say Jack Robinson.”

Mauney had never so little enjoyed talking with Jean Byrne as to-night. The episode of Sunday evening had left a distasteful flavor in his mind, for, although he tried to forget it, the incident kept flashing back upon his memory. He was left alone on the verandah with her presently, and immediately felt an awkwardness, hard to overcome. Hitherto, she had always been just his teacher. But to-night, dressed in a yellow-flowered frock, with a pale yellow ribbon holding her dark hair down on her brow, she had lost a quality of dignity. He noticed also a hundred fine lights of tenderness in her eyes that he had never seen before.

He talked with her a few minutes and gave back the history.

“Let me get you another book,” she said, starting toward the door.