He laughed softly as he kissed her, enjoying her freshness, her surrender, her adoration, which she no longer attempted to hide.
When he parted from her several hours afterwards, he had almost recovered the casual gaiety which had become his habit of mind.

Life was too short either to wonder or to regret, he had once remarked, and a certain easy fatalism had softened so far the pricks of a disturbing conscience.
The walk from the pasture to the house led through a tangle of shrubbery called by the negroes, the Haunt's Walk, and as he pushed the leafless boughs out of his way, a flitting glimpse of red caught his eye beyond a turn in the path.

An instant later, Molly passed him on her way to the spring or to the meadows beyond.
"Good day, Mr.Jonathan," she said, while her lips curved and she looked up at him with her arch and brilliant smile.
"Good day to yourself, cousin," he responded gaily, "what is your hurry ?" As he made a movement to detain her, she slipped past him, and a minute afterwards her laugh floated back.
"Oh, there's a reason!" she called over her shoulder.
A sudden thought appeared to strike him at her words, and turning quickly in the path, he looked after her until she disappeared down the winding path amid the tangle of shrubbery.
"Jove, she is amazingly pretty!" he said at last under his breath..