Instead of taking the cup from her Everett clasped his fingers around
her slender wrist in the fashion of young Petie and thus with her hand
raised the cup to his lips. And as his eyes looked down over its blue
rim into hers the excitement in them died down, first into a very deep
tenderness that changed slowly into a quiet determination which seemed
to be pouring a promise and a vow into her very soul. Something in the
strange look made Rose Mary's hand tremble as he finished the last
drop in the cup, and again her lovely, always-ready rose flushed up
under her long lowered lashes. "Is it good and cold?" she asked with
a little smile as she turned away with the cup.
"Yes," answered Everett quietly, "it's all to the good and the milk
to the cold."
"Is that a compliment to me and the milk, too?" laughed Rose Mary from
over by the table as she again took up her butter-paddle. "It's nice
to find things as is expected of them, women good and milk cold, isn't
it?" she queried teasingly.
"Yes," answered Everett from across the table.
"And any way a woman must be a comfort to folks, just as a rose must
smell sweet, because they're both born for that," continued Rose Mary
as she lifted a huge pat of the butter on to a blue saucer. "Men are
sometimes a comfort, too--and sweet," she added with a roguish glance
at him over the butter flower she was making.
"No, Rose Mary, men are just thorns, cruel and slashing--but sometimes
they protect the rose," answered Everett in his most cynical tone of
voice, though the excitement again flamed up in his dark eyes and
again his hand closed over the kit at his side.
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