hearty smile and an approving pat on the head. She didn’t like the new tone; for, though not blasé, it sounded indifferent in spite of the look.
“If that’s the way he’s going to grow up, I wish he’d stay a boy,” she thought, with a curious sense of disappointment and discomfort, trying meantime to seem quite easy and gay.
At Avigdor’s she found the precious home-letters, and, giving the reins to Laurie, read them luxuriously as they wound up the shady road between green hedges, where tea-roses bloomed as freshly as in June.
“Beth is very poorly, mother says. I often think I ought to go home, but they all say ‘stay;’ so I do, for I shall never have another chance like this,” said Amy, looking sober over one page.
“I think you are right, there; you could do nothing at home, and it is a great comfort to them to know that you are well and happy, and enjoying so much, my dear.”