"Oh, well, not _old_, of course. Still, she's too old to fall in love.--Anyway, there are some things a girl can't talk about with her mother; you ought to know there are." The glance she gave him was both embarrassed and appealing. Alas for Kate's carefully fostered intimacy with her children, vanished at the first touch of a warmer breath! Philip put his hand over hers on the bridle-rein. "My dear," he said earnestly, "there is nothing, absolutely nothing, you cannot talk about with your mother. She's that sort. Always remember it." She jerked her hand away with a pettish gesture. "For goodness' sake, stop being so ancient and fatherly! And what right have you to tell me anything about mother? I don't mind your explaining about God to me, and Christian duty, and things like that. It's your business, and I suppose it bores you as much as anybody. But when you talk as if you had a special vested right in my own mother,--that's _too_ much! As if you could possibly know her as well as I do!" She spurred her horse and galloped ahead furiously. But at the next turn of the road she was waiting, remorseful. "Forgive me for being a crosspatch, Flippy dear?" Her voice would have coaxed forgiveness from a stone. "I always am sort of--sort of foolish about mummy, you know." "I have no fault to find with you for being foolish about your mother," said Philip. "Then, that's all right!" She blew him a kiss, and prepared to leave him. "And of course I will tell her everything, soon. When she knows, she's going to be glad, gladder than anybody. I remember once,"--the girl's face grew very tender--"we were just little things, Jemmy and I, but she was talking to us, like she does. She said, 'When the right man comes along, my girlies, be sure he is the right man, and then _don't be afraid_. Love him with all your might and main, and be sure he knows it. There's nothing in the world so mean as a niggardly lover!' I--I am not a niggardly lover, Philip," she added shyly. His throat contracted. Jacqueline's naïveté was singularly touching to him. "Wait a moment," he said, detaining her. "Since I must keep the great secret, I want you to promise me one thing. Do not go to Mr. Farwell's house alone any more. You see," he explained to her widened eyes, "there aren't any women there. Girls do not call on men." "I go to your house whenever I like!" He smiled. "As you yourself said once, I'm 'not men.' But it isn't done, little girl. Take my word for that, please." "Very well!" she chuckled. "You sound like Jemmy!--But I promise. I like the Ruin better anyway. More private." She waved back at him, put her horse lightly over a fence, and was off across the fields at a full gallop.