“No matter,” he said soothingly, much as he might have spoken to a child; “I am an old acquaintance, you know; and I never tell tales.”

Suddenly Phebe laughed out blithely.

“What about the last night you were at Quantuck, Mr. Barrett?”

“Oh—­well, that was different.  How could I know that my muddy, murderous Amazon was Miss Phebe McAlister in disguise?”

This time, they both laughed, and Phebe felt better.

“Let’s walk on,” she suggested.  “This bridge is getting monotonous.  Is your arm quite strong again?”

“Perfectly.  I think, if you’ll let me, I can match your record in golf, before I go back to New York.”

“I didn’t even know there were any links here,” she said.

“There are, fine ones.  One of my errands, to-day, was to make some kind of an engagement with you.  I’ve my reputation for laziness to redeem, you know.”

“I wish you wouldn’t remind me of all the horrid things I said to you,” she said contritely.

He looked at her in surprise.  It was not like the Phebe McAlister he had known, to speak like this.  At Quantuck she had been cocksure, aggressive; now she was gentler, more womanly.  He missed something of the piquancy; yet after all he rather liked the change.

“Really, aren’t you enjoying it down here?” he asked.

“No; I am not.  I’m all out of my element.  I don’t mind the work so much as I do the people.  They despise me as a worldling, and I don’t like being despised.”  For the moment, it was the old Phebe who was speaking.  “Don’t tell,” she begged.  “I’d rather die than have them know it at home.  How long are you going to stay here?”

“About a week, I only came over last night.”

“I don’t see why I am glad to see you,” Phebe said, with characteristic frankness.  “I didn’t know you much at Quantuck; it probably is because I associate you with the home people.  You used to be around with Hope a good deal.”

“What’s the use of analyzing it?” he answered.  “I’m here, and you are homesick and glad to see me.  That’s enough for any practical purposes.  When are you going to play golf with me?”

“Can you really play?”

“I shouldn’t dare ask you, if I couldn’t.  One thing that has brought me over here is a thirsting to beat you.”

“I haven’t touched a club since I came.”

“Did it ever occur to you, Miss McAlister, that you were very lazy?”

“Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Barrett, that you were outspoken?”

Like a pair of children, they laughed together, and Phebe suddenly discovered that his eyes were singularly clear and frank.  She also discovered that the day was much finer than she had supposed, the sunlight clearer, the air more bracing.

“We may as well cry quits,” she said.  “I fought you rather violently; you retaliated by telling my family the one sealed chapter of my life.”