Nevertheless, for some occult reason, Bill was evidently out of humor;
and for the next few miles exhorted the impenitent Blue Grass horse with
considerable fervor.

Meanwhile this pair, outwardly the picture of pastoral conjugality,
slowly descended the hill. In that brief time, failing to get at any
further facts regarding Jeff's life, or perhaps reading the story quite
plainly, Miss Mayfield had twittered prettily about herself. She painted
her tropic life in the Sandwich Islands--her delicious "laziness," as
she called it; "for, you know," she added, "although I had the excuse of
being an invalid, and of living in the laziest climate in the world, and
of having money, I think, Mr. Jeff, that I'm naturally lazy. Perhaps if
I lived here long enough, and got well again, I might do something, but
I don't think I could ever be like your aunt. And there she is now,
Mr. Jeff, making signs for you to hasten. No, don't mind me, but run on
ahead; else I shall have her blaming me for demoralizing you too. Go; I
insist upon it! I can walk the rest of the way alone. Will you go? You
won't? Then I shall stop here and not stir another step forward until
you do."

She stopped, half jestingly, half earnestly, in the middle of the road,
and emphasized her determination with a nod of her head--an action that,
however, shook her hat first rakishly over one eye, and then on the
ground. At which Jeff laughed, picked it up, presented it to her, and
then ran off to the house.


III.