The Coldstone Read Online Free PDF Page B

was Jervis’ father, he was a fine-looking man, six foot and a bit over. What’s the lad like?”
    â€œOh, he’s big enough.”
    â€œDon’t you go and tell me he’s one of they long weeds!”
    Susan laughed softly.
    â€œOh, he’s wide enough,” she said.
    â€œWell, what’s wrong with the lad?”
    â€œI didn’t say there was anything wrong with him. He’s a very nice, discreet, polite young man, and quite as good-looking as is good for him.”
    â€œH’m—” said Mrs. Bowyer. “I like ’em bold meself, but not to say outrageous bold. What colour’s his eyes, deary?”
    â€œOh, just no colour at all.”
    Mrs. Bowyer sat up straight and stopped rocking.
    â€œAre you telling me you’re the kind of maid that don’t notice what coloured eyes a lad has got?”
    Susan tilted her chin. The corners of her mouth took an upward quirk, a dimple showed in the curve of her cheek.
    â€œOf course, Gran. I’m very, very modest.” She broke into a laugh at Mrs. Bowyer’s expression. “Now, Gran, don’t you look like that! Personally I think no-coloured eyes are quite good business. They make a sort of weather gauge, because if he’s in love with you they’ll be blue, and when he’s angry they’ll go grey, and when he starts thinking about somebody else they’ll be hazel. Hazel eyes are the fickle eyes, aren’t they, Gran? And black—” She broke off and shivered.
    â€œYou’d best keep clear of the black, my girl. And Anthony Colstone—have you seen his eyes look blue or grey? For if you have, it’s early days. He didn’t talk bold to you, Susan?” Her voice sharpened.
    â€œNot a bit of it—he was shy. I could see him wondering how he could get rid of me without hurting my feelings. I told you he was a discreet young man.”
    She took off her sun-bonnet and swung it by the strings. The bare head was beautifully shaped and beautifully held. The shingled hair was very dark and very soft; it curled a little where it was long enough to curl.
    â€œAnd you think the worse of him for it?”
    â€œI don’t.”
    â€œMaids are all alike! If he’d ha’ kissed you, you’d ha’ thought him a fine fellow.”
    Susan’s lip lifted a little.
    â€œPeople don’t kiss me unless I want them to, Gran.” The soft voice was a little haughty.
    Mrs. Bowyer rocked with inward laughter. She made no sound at all; she quivered and put a little wrinkled hand to her side. After a moment Susan laughed too.
    â€œGran, you’re a fiend! I wish you’d been there. I did it beautifully. I copied Mary Ann Smithers—you know the way she holds her hands and sort of gives at the knees. And I made him a perfectly lovely bob, and I said ‘sir’ at least once in every sentence.”
    Mrs. Bowyer stopped laughing with great suddenness.
    â€œThe Coldstone Ring’s no place for a lad to meet with a lass,” she said; and then, very sharply, “What took him there?”
    â€œHow should I know? What’s the matter with the Stones, Gran? Why won’t anyone go near them?”
    Mrs. Bowyer gazed abstractedly at her geraniums.
    â€œGran, you might tell me!”
    â€œThere’s those that’s best not talked of.”
    Susan knelt down by the rocking-chair and coaxed.
    â€œIn a whisper, Gran!”
    â€œWhat’s a whisper to Them? ” Susan felt a tingle of excitement.
    â€œGran—you might tell me! You told me about the passage”
    Old Susan Bowyer turned on her sharply.
    â€œAnd you promised sure and certain you’d never name it to living soul.”
    â€œYes, I did, Gran—and I won’t.”
    She was holding one of the work-worn hands. Her own were brown, and smooth, and beautifully shaped. Mrs. Bowyer put her other hand down on them. It pressed them, trembling.
    â€œYou