"Once, out on the lake, when we were both prowling about in canoes. I talked to him, but made him keep his distance. I dared him to race me, and finally paddled off and left him. Then another time, on the shore near St. Agatha's. I was taking an observation of the school garden from the bluff, and Mr. Gillespie came walking through the woods and made love to me. He came so suddenly that I couldn't run, but I saw that he took me for Helen, in broad daylight, and I--I--" "Well, of course you scorned him--you told him to be gone. You did that much for her." "No, I didn't. I liked his love-making; it was unaffected and simple." "Oh, yes! It would naturally be simple!" "That is brutal. He's clever, and earnest, and amusing. But--" and her brow contracted, "but if he is seeking my father--" "Rest assured he is not. He is in love with your cousin--that's the reason for his being here." "But that does not help my father's case any." "We will see about that. You are right about him; he's really a most amusing person, and not a fool, except for his own amusement. He is shrewd enough to keep clear of Miss Pat, who dislikes him intensely on his father's account. She feels that the senior Gillespie was the cause of all her troubles, but I don't know just why. She's strongly prejudiced against the young man, and his whimsicalities do not appeal to her." "I suppose Helen cares nothing for him; he acted toward me as though he'd been crushed, and I--I tried to be nice to him to make up for it." "That was nice of you, very nice of you, Rosalind. I hope you will keep right on the way you've begun. Now I must ask you not to leave here, and not to allow your father to leave unless I know it." "But you have your hands full without us. Your first obligation is to Aunt Pat and Helen. My father and I have merely stumbled in where we were not invited. You and I had better say good-by now." "I am not anxious to say good-by," I answered lamely, and she laughed at me. Helen, I reflected, did not laugh so readily. Rosalind was beautiful, she was charming; and yet her likeness to Helen failed in baffling particulars. Even as she came through the daisy meadow there had been a difference--at least I seemed to realize it now. The white butterflies symbolized her Ariel-like quality; for the life of me I could not associate those pale, fluttering vagrants with Helen Holbrook.