subject. But supposing you are very, very old, say seventeen—or even eighteen!—still you[120] haven’t, I hope, got beyond the age of make-believe. Why, even I—and, as you will readily see, I have one foot almost in the grave—even I sometimes make-believe.” [120] “Do you?” murmured Holly, very coldly. There was silence for a moment during which Holly added further prizes to her store and Winthrop followed her and watched her in mingled admiration and amusement—admiration for the grace and beauty and sheer youth of her, amusement at her evident resentment. “I’m sorry,” he said presently, slowly and thoughtfully. “At what?” Holly allowed herself a fleeting look at his face. It was very serious and regretful, but the smile still lurked in the dark eyes, and Holly’s vanity flew to arms again. “Sorry that I’ve said something to displease you,” returned Winthrop. “You see, I was hoping to make friends with you, Miss Holly.” [121] [121] Holly thought of a dozen questions to ask, but heroically refrained. “I gathered from Major Cass last evening,” continued Winthrop, “that Northerners are not popular at Waynewood. But you seemed a very kind young lady, and I thought that if I could only win you over to my side you might intercede for me with your aunt. You see, I’d like very much to stay here, but I’m afraid Miss Wayne isn’t going to take to the idea. And now I’ve gone and antagonized the very person I meant to win for an ally.” “I don’t see why you can’t stay here if you want to,” answered Holly. “Waynewood belongs to you.” “But what would I do here all alone?” asked Winthrop. “I’m a frightfully helpless, ignorant chap. Why, I don’t even know how to cook a beefsteak! And as for beaten biscuit——!” Holly smiled, in spite of herself. “But you could hire some servants, I reckon.” “Oh, I shouldn’t know how to manage[122] them, really. No, the only way in which I can remain here is as your guest, Miss Holly. I’ve asked Major Cass to tell Miss Wayne that, and I’ve no doubt but what
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