Corey did not return to his own trestle. She found another
shaving within reach of her parasol, and began poking
that with it, and trying to follow it through its folds.
Corey watched her a while.
"You seem to have a great passion for playing with shavings,"
he said. "Is it a new one?"
"New what?"
"Passion."
"I don't know," she said, dropping her eyelids, and keeping
on with her effort. She looked shyly aslant at him.
"Perhaps you don't approve of playing with shavings?"
"Oh yes, I do. I admire it very much. But it seems
rather difficult. I've a great ambition to put my foot
on the shaving's tail and hold it for you."
"Well," said the girl.
"Thank you," said the young man. He did so, and now she
ran her parasol point easily through it. They looked
at each other and laughed. "That was wonderful.
Would you like to try another?" he asked.
"No, I thank you," she replied. "I think one will do."
They both laughed again, for whatever reason or no reason,
and then the young girl became sober. To a girl everything
a young man does is of significance; and if he holds
a shaving down with his foot while she pokes through it
with her parasol, she must ask herself what he means
by it.
"They seem to be having rather a long interview with the
carpenter to-day," said Irene, looking vaguely toward
the ceiling.
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