Sheba
did not want to go, but she went. She would much rather have sat in the
rear seat with Diane,--at least, she persuaded herself that she
would,--yet she occupied the place beside Macdonald in front. The girl
was a rebel. Still, in her heart, she was not wholly reluctant. He made
a strong appeal to her imagination. She felt that it would have been
impossible for any girl to be indifferent to the wooing of such a man.
The picnic was a success. Macdonald was an outdoor man rather than a
parlor one. He took charge of the luncheon, lit the fire, and cooked the
coffee without the least waste of effort. In his shirt-sleeves, the neck
open at the throat, he looked the embodiment of masculine vigor. Diane
could not help mentioning it to her cousin.
"Isn't he a splendid human animal?"
Sheba nodded. "He's wonderful."
"If I were a little Irish colleen and he had done me the honor to care
for me, I'd have fallen fathoms deep in love with him."
The Irish colleen's eyes grew reflective. "Not if you had seen Peter
first, Di. There's nothing reasonable about a girl, I do believe. She
loves--or else she just doesn't."
Diane fired a question at her point-blank. "Have you met _your_
Peter? Is that why you hang back?"
The color flamed into Sheba's face.
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