“Of course, I’ll take a walk with you,” came her answer,—­“if you’ll stop for me.  I’m quite a pedestrian, you know.  I had to take some sort of a cure in sheer self-defense, up there in the wilds, so I decided on fresh air—­and now it’s a habit.  I’ll be ready.”

Teddy walked rapidly, his heart singing.  He had quite forgotten his errand in the anticipated joy of seeing her.  If he thought at all of the painting, it was an unformulated regret that no living artist could do Dorothy justice, or ever hope to transfer to canvas any true semblance of her many perfections.

She joined him in the hallway of her home, called back a last happy good-by to her mother, and passed with him into the silver and crystal morning light.  She was simply dressed in a dark tailor suit, with a little hat and sensible shoes—­a very different silhouette from that of the girl who left her room only in time to keep her luncheon appointments.  He looked at her with approval and laughed happily.

“Hello, Country!—­how are the cows to-day?”

“Fine,” she answered.  “All boiled and sterilized, milked by electricity, manicured by steam and dehorned by absent treatment, sir, she said—­sir, she said.”

“May I go with you into your highly sanitary barnyard, my pretty maid?” he asked seriously.

“Not unless you take a bath in carbolic solution, are vaccinated twice, and wear a surgeon’s uniform, sir, she said.”

“But, I’m going to marry you, my pretty maid.”  The words were out before he could check them.  He blushed furiously.  To propose in a nursery rhyme was something that shocked his sense of fitness.  He was amazed to find that he meant what he said in just the very way he had said it.

But Dorothy took his answer as part of their early morning springtime madness.

“Nobody asked you to be farm inspector, sir, she said,” she replied promptly.

But he was silent.  His own words had choked him completely.  She looked at him quickly, but his head was turned away.  Her own heart began to beat nervously.  She felt the magnetic current of his emotion vibrating through her being.  Her eyes opened wide in wonder.  She had for so long accustomed herself to the idea that Teddy was her own peculiar property, and that, of course, she intended to marry him, that but for his half-distressed perturbation, she would have thought no more of the momentous “Yes” than of voicing some long-formed opinion.  Now his throbbing excitement had become contagious.  She found herself fluttering and tongue-tied.  Though she realized suddenly that their ridiculous child’s-play had turned to earnest, she could not find word or look to ease the strain.  They walked on in silence, step for step, in a sort of mechanical rhythmic physical understanding.  Suddenly he spoke.

“Dolly, I wish you’d punch old Marcus!”

The remark was so unexpected that Dorothy slipped a beat in her step and shuffled quickly to fall in tune.