I think him altogether trying and odious, and I should be glad--yes, _glad_, if Vick were to bite a piece out of his leg; but, at the same time, I cannot deny that I have seldom seen any thing comelier than the young man who now stands before me, with the green woodland lights flickering about the close-shorn beauty of his face--he is well aware that his are not features that need _planting out_--while a lively emotion quickens all his lazy being.
"We are _not_ old friends! Let me pass!" "_New_ friends, then--_friends_, at all events!" coming a step nearer, and speaking without a trace of sneer, sloth, or languor.
"Not friends at all! Let me pass!" "Not until you tell me my offense--not until you own that we are friends!" (in a tone of quick excitement, and almost of authority, that, in him, is new to me).
"Then we shall stay here all night!" reply I, with a fine obstinacy, plumping down, as I speak, on the wayside grass, among the St.
John's-worts, and the red arum-berries.

In a moment he has stepped aside, and is holding the stout purple bramble-stem out of my way.
"Pass, then!" he says, in a tone of impatience, frowning a little; "as you have said it, of course you will stick to it--right or wrong--or you would not be a woman; but, whether you confess it or not, we _are_ friends!" "We are NOT!" cry I, resolute to have the last word, as I spring up and fly past him, with more speed than dignity, lest he should change his mind, and again detain me..