stream, which they had approached, she was trying to 
make out if she could see them. It was pretense. There 
was no interest in her glance. She was thinking of him 
and the niceness of his habit, and the exquisite condition 
of his mount. He had such a charming calico pony. 
The leaves were just far enough out to make a diaphanous 
lace-work of green. It was like looking through a soft, 
netted curtain of pale, olive-hued lace to look into the 
woods beyond or behind. The gray stones were already 
faintly mossy where the water rippled and sparkled, and 
early birds were calling—robins and blackbirds and 
"Baby mine," he said, "do you understand all about 
it? Do you know exactly what you're doing when you 
come with me this way?" 
"I think I do." 
She struck her boot and looked at the ground, and then 
up through the trees at the blue sky. 
" Look at me, honey." 
" I don't want to." 
"But look at me, sweet. I want to ask you some- 
" Don't make me, Frank, please. I can't." 
"Oh yes, you can look at me." 
She backed away as he took her hands, but came for- 
ward again, easily enough. 
"Now look in my eyes." 
"I can't." 
"See here." 
"I can't. Don't ask me. I'll answer you, but don't 
make me look at you." 
His hand stole to her cheek and fondled it. He petted 
her shoulder, and she leaned her head against him. 
"Sweet, you're so beautiful," he said, finally, " I can't 
give you up. I know what I ought to do. You know, 
too, I suppose; but I can't. I must have you. If any