"You know what a bear I am sometimes. Hollanden says it is a fixed scowl from trying to see uproarious pinks, yellows, and blues." A little brook, a brawling, ruffianly little brook, swaggered from side to side down the glade, swirling in white leaps over the great dark rocks and shouting challenge to the hillsides. Hollanden and the Worcester girls had halted in a place of ferns and wet moss. Their voices could be heard quarrelling above the clamour of the stream. Stanley, the setter, had sousled himself in a pool and then gone and rolled in the dust of the road. He blissfully lolled there, with his coat now resembling an old door mat. "Don't you think Jem is a wonderfully good fellow?" said the girl to the painter. "Why, yes, of course," said Hawker.[Pg 76] [Pg 76] "Well, he is," she retorted, suddenly defensive. "Of course," he repeated loudly. She said, "Well, I don't think you like him as well as I like him." "Certainly not," said Hawker. "You don't?" She looked at him in a kind of astonishment. "Certainly not," said Hawker again, and very irritably. "How in the wide world do you expect me to like him as well as you like him?" "I don't mean as well," she explained. "Oh!" said Hawker. "But I mean you don't like him the way I do at all—the way I expected you to like him. I thought men of a certain pattern always fancied their kind of men wherever they met them, don't you know? And I was so sure you and Jem would be friends." "Oh!" cried Hawker. Presently he added, "But he isn't my kind of a man at all." "He is. Jem is one of the best fellows in the world." Again Hawker cried "Oh!"