the river, won't it? And then, if you would like it, there is no
reason why my friend shouldn't come with us, sometimes."

"Oh, nonsense! Why, you'd be ashamed to let him know me."

"Ashamed! How can you possibly think so? But you don't mean it; you
are joking."

"I'm sure I'm not. I should make mistakes in talking, and all sorts
of things. You don't think much of me, as it is, and that would make
you like me worse still."

She tossed her head nervously, and swung her arms with the awkward
restlessness which always denoted some strong feeling in her.

"Come, Harriet, this is too bad," Julian exclaimed, smiling. "Why, I
shall have to quarrel with you, to prove that we're good friends."

"I wish you _would_ quarrel with me sometimes," said the girl,
laughing in a forced way. "You take all my bad-temper always just in
the same quiet way. I'd far rather you fell out with me. It's
treating me too like a child, as if it didn't matter how I went on,
and I wasn't anything to you."

Of late, Harriet had been getting much into the habit of this
ambiguous kind of remark when in her cousin's company. Julian
noticed it, and it made him a trifle uneasy. He attributed it,
however, to the girl's strangely irritable disposition, and never
failed to meet such outbreaks with increased warmth and kindness of
tone. To-day, Harriet's vagaries seemed to affect him somewhat