Dorothy stopped short and wheeled around to face him.

“Oh, very well, then,” she smiled, “if you are going to get someone else to do your love making for you, I apply for the position.  Teddy Mahr, will you marry the milkmaid?—­Honest and true, black and blue?”

“I will!” he cried ecstatically, and caught her in his arms.

Two wrens upon a neighboring branch, tilted forward to watch them, the business of nest building for the moment forgotten.  A gray squirrel, with jerking tail and mincing gate, approached along the path.  A florid policeman, wandering aimlessly in this remote arbor, stopped short, grinned, stuck his thumbs in his belt, and contemplated the picture, then wheeled about and stole out of sight in fashion most unmilitary.  Across the lake the white swans glided, and two little “mandarin” ducks sidled up close to shore, regarding the moveless group of humans with bright and beady eyes.

Dorothy disengaged herself from his arms with a happy little gurgle, set her hat straight upon her tumbled hair, and glanced at the ducks.

“There,” she said softly, “that’s a lucky sign.  In China they always send the newlyweds a pair.  They are love birds; they die when separated—­which means, I’m a duck.”

“You are,” he agreed, and kissed her again.

“Now,” she said seriously, “I’ve found a way to clear all difficulties.”

He looked at her, troubled.  “I didn’t know there were any,” he said anxiously.  “I think your mother likes me, and I don’t see—­I can keep you in hats and candy; and Miss Gard is the only person who has seemed to disapprove of me.”

“All wrong,” she said.  “I don’t mean that at all.  I mean about the picture.  I have thought it all out while you were kissing me.”

He grinned.  “Did you, indeed?  I’m vastly flattered, I’m sure.  In that case I shall go to kissing school no later than to-morrow.  However, since you work out problems in that way, I’ll give you another to Q.E.D.  When will the wedding be?” He folded his arms about her rapturously.

The ducks waddled up the bank; the squirrel climbed to the back of the bench; one wren captured a damaged feather from Dorothy’s hat that had fallen to earth, and made off with his nest contribution.

“Now,” Teddy demanded as he released her.  “Did you work that out?”

She gasped.  “If you act like that, I’ll not tell you anything.  I’ll leave you guessing all the rest of your life.”

“I expect that,” he laughed.  “Who am I to escape the common lot?”

She frowned.  “As I was saying before you interrupted me so rudely, I have found a way to overcome the arguments and refusals of ’Old Marcus’—­by the way, if he heard you call him that, he’d beat you up, and perfectly right.  He isn’t old, and I wish you had half his sense.”

“Dolly, we are not married yet, and I object to unfavorable comparisons.  Kindly get down to business.”