Margot ran forward, laughing, and she and Ron were soon scrambling up
the hillside, side by side.
"That's a good fellow. I like him! He will be very interesting when
one gets beneath the surface," pronounced the boy thoughtfully.
Margot nodded emphatically.
"I'm going to love him! I feel it in my bones, and he is going to love
me too, but unfortunately he's the wrong man. He says that his brother
hates women, and will do all he can to avoid me, so you must take things
into your own hands, Ron! I can't help you, so you must help yourself.
You will have to cultivate his acquaintance, and get him to take you
about, and talk to him, and try to get intimate. You will, won't you?
Promise me that you will!"
She looked with anxiety into the lad's face as she spoke, for previous
experience had proved that Ron possessed the full share of those
failings which are most characteristic of his temperament: a sudden
cooling of interest at critical moments; a shirking of responsibility,
an inclination to drift. It was a part of the artistic nature, which
had an irritating effect on more practical mortals. Now, as she feared,
he remained as placidly unmoved by the intelligence as if it had no
bearing whatever on his own prospects.
"Oh, all right. I'll see! You can't rush things, if a fellow keeps out
of your way. Our opening will come in time, if we leave it to chance
and don't worry. I believe I am going to do really good work here,
Margot! I had an idea last night, after you had gone to bed, and I was
watching the stars through the pines. I won't read it to you yet, for
it wants working up, but it's good--I am sure it is good! And that
little stream along from the house; I found a song motif in
that,--`Clear babbling over amber bed!' How's that for a word-
picture? Shows the whole thing, doesn't it? The crystal clearness of
the water; the music of its flow, the curious golden colour of the
rocks. I'm always pleased when I can hit off a description in a line.
I'm glad we came, Margot! There's inspiration in this place."
But for once Margot refused to be sympathetic.
"You did not come for inspiration, you came for a definite, practical
purpose; and if you write a hundred poems, it won't make up for
neglecting it. Now, Ron, wake up! I shall be angry with you if you
don't do all you can for yourself. Promise me that you will try!"
"All right! All right! Do let us be happy while we have the chance,
Margot. We had enough worry at home, and this place is perfect. Let us
be wise children, and take no thought for the morrow. What would Elgood
think of you, beginning to worry about the future, the moment his back
was turned? She was a pretty illustration, wasn't she?--that little
bare-headed child. Did you notice her hair? Almost white against the
russet of her skin."