This done, she pantingly rejoined her cousin in the kitchen.
"Well," said Mrs. Bradley, emphatically. "DID you ever? Walking fifteen
miles for pleasure--and with such lungs!"
"And that knapsack!" added Louise Macy, pointing to the mark in her
little palm where the strap had imbedded itself in the soft flesh.
"He's nice, though; isn't he?" said Mrs. Bradley, tentatively.
"Yes," said Miss Macy, "he isn't, certainly, one of those provincial
fine gentlemen you object to. But DID you see his shoes? I suppose they
make the miles go quickly, or seem to measure less by comparison."
"They're probably more serviceable than those high-heeled things that
Captain Greyson hops about in."
"But the Captain always rides--and rides very well--you know," said
Louise, reflectively. There was a moment's pause.
"I suppose Jim will tell us all about him," said Mrs. Bradley,
dismissing the subject, as she turned her sleeves back over her white
arms, preparatory to grappling certain culinary difficulties.
"Jim," observed Miss Macy, shortly, "in my opinion, knows nothing more
than his note says. That's like Jim."
"There's nothing more to know, really," said Mrs. Bradley, with a
superior air.
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