Dorothy sighed happily.  The restraint that had troubled them both slowly metamorphosed itself into a tender, dreamy content.  Why ask anything of fate?  Why crystallize with a word the cloudland perfection of the mirage in which they walked?  They were content, happy with the vernal joy of young things in harmony with all the world of spring.  They were silent now—­unconscious, and one with the heart of life, as were Adam and Eve in the great garden of Eternal Spring—­isolated, alone, all in all to each other, and kin with all the vibrant life about them, sentient and inanimate.  For them the rainbow glowed in every drop the trailing mists scattered in their wake; for them the pale light of the sun was pure gold of dreams; every frail, courageous flower a delicate censor of fragrance.  There was crooning in the tree-tops and laughter in the confidential whisper of the fountains—­as if Pan’s pipes had enchanted all this ruled-and-lined, sophisticated, urban pleasaunce into a dell in Arcady.

Teddy looked down at his companion, trudging sturdily by his side.  How sweet and dear were her eyes of violet, how tender and gentle the slim curves of her mouth, how wholly lovely the contour of cheek and chin, and the curled tendrils of her moist, dark hair!

She was conscious of his gaze.  She felt an impulse to take his arm—­that strong, strong arm; to walk with him like that—­like the old, long married couples, who come to sun themselves in the warm light of the young day, and the sight of passing lovers.  A Judas tree in full blossom arrested her attention, and they came to a halt before its lavish display.

“There’s nothing in the world so beautiful as natural things,” she said slowly, breaking the enchanted silence.

Teddy was master of himself again.  “I know,” he said, “and I want to get back again to the barnyard we left so suddenly.  I said something then—­I want to say it over again.”

It was Dorothy’s turn to become frightened and confused.

“Oh,” she said with an indifference she was far from feeling.  “Barnyard!  It’s such a commonplace spot after all.  Don’t you like the garden better?”

But Teddy was determined.  “My pretty maid,” he began in a tender voice.

But she moved away suddenly down a tempting path, and, perforce, he followed her.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said hurriedly, “about Mr. Gard.  I’m sure, if he felt he was hurting your feelings, he wouldn’t think all his own way.  Now, if you want me to, I’ll try and make him understand it.  I’ll tell him that you came to me in an awful huff—­all cut up.  I’m sure I can put it strongly enough.”

“And I shall go to him, and complain that when I want to talk with you, you put me off—­won’t listen to me.  I’ll ask him to make you listen to reason.  I’ll tell him to put it to you.  I’ll show him that I am cut up, all around the heart.  Perhaps he can put it to you strongly enough—­”