“Indeed, Miss Wildmere, if I understand your little parable, I think Mr. Arnault errs egregiously, yet he does not frighten the bird into a very distant flight.”

“You do not know how distant it is.”

“No; I only see that he goes straight for the bird the moment he sees her.”

“He might have found a more considerate policy wiser.”  Then she added, gravely, with a little reproach in her voice:  “Mr. Arnault is an old friend and a friend of papa’s, whom he often favors in business.  I think my manner toward you should prove that I am not inclined to be disloyal toward old friends.  You have just defended Miss Alden against a little feminine spite on my part.  That was nice.  In the same way I defend Mr. Arnault, whom, for reasons equally absurd, you do not altogether like.  I’m only a woman, you know, and a little spite is one of our prerogatives.  After all, it doesn’t amount to anything.  I would do as much for Miss Alden as for any one in the house.” (Quite true, which was nothing.) “You know how girls are.”

“Certainly, especially when both are reigning belles.”

“The men are always the rulers sooner or later; and I shall give my allegiance to those gentlemen friends who are the least like myself—­tolerant, patient, you know.  Mr. Arnault is coming to-night to spend the Fourth.  I must give him more or less of my time—­I should be ungrateful if I did not—­but I don’t wish you to feel toward me or him as I should toward you and Miss Alden if I saw that you were together a great deal.  How you see how frank I am, and what a compliment I pay to your masculine superiority.”

“Miss Wildmere, I think I understand you; I hope I do.  Your manner of greeting me on my return from long absence proved that you were not disloyal to one old friend.  If you could keep me in mind for years, I can hope I am not forgotten during the hours when others have claims upon you.  I have ever kept you in mind, and I might say more.  If women have a little natural spite, men in some situations are endowed with enormous selfishness, and the bump of appropriation grows almost into a deformity.”

“I never expect to see deformities of any kind in Graydon Muir,” she said, laughing.  “Now that we understand each other so well, give me your hand and pull me up this steep place before which we have stood so long, while getting over another little steep place that lay in our path.  I’m glad the others have all gone on, for now you can help me all you choose, and I shan’t care.”

He did help her, with a touch and freedom that grew into something like caresses.  He felt that he had revealed himself almost as completely as if he had spoken his love, and that he had received and was receiving more than encouragement.  She did not rebuke his manner, which was that of a lover.  There was no committal in that, nothing that could bind her.  She permitted the avowal of his hope, that he had been in her thoughts during his long absence,