She heard his step, but did not move; and when he leaned above the dial, resting on his elbows, beside her, she laid her finger on the shadow of the dial.

“Time,” she said, “is trying to frighten me.  It pretends to be nearly five o’clock; do you believe it?”

“Time is running very fast with me,” he said.

“With me, too; I don’t wish it to; I don’t care for third speed forward all the time.”

He was bending closer above the stone dial, striving to decipher the inscription on it: 

“Under blue skies
My shadow lies. 
Under gray skies
My shadow dies.

  “If over me

Two Lovers leaning
Would solve my Mystery
And read my Meaning,
—­Or clear, or overcast the Skies—­
The Answer always lies within their Eyes. 
Look long!  Look long!  For there, and there alone
Time solves the Riddle graven on this Stone!”

Elbows almost touching they leaned at ease, idly reading the almost obliterated lines engraved there.

“I never understood it,” she observed, lightly scornful.  “What occult meaning has a sun-dial for the spooney? I’m sure I don’t want to read riddles in a strange gentleman’s optics.”

“The verses,” he explained, “are evidently addressed to the spooney, so why should you resent them?”

“I don’t. . . .  I can be spoons, too, for that matter; I mean I could once.”

“But you’re past spooning now,” he concluded.

“Am I?  I rather resent your saying it—­your calmly excluding me from anything I might choose to do,” she said.  “If I cared—­if I chose—­if I really wanted to—­”

“You could still spoon?  Impossible!  At your age?  Nonsense!”

“It isn’t at all impossible.  Wait until there’s a moon, and a canoe, and a nice boy who is young enough to be frightened easily!”

“And I,” he retorted, “am too old to be frightened; so there’s no moon, no canoe, no pretty girl, no spooning for me.  Is that it, Eileen?”

“Oh, Gladys and Sheila will attend to you, Captain Selwyn.”

“Why Gladys Orchil?  Why Sheila Minster?  And why not Eileen Erroll?”

“Spoon?  With you!”

“You are quite right,” he said, smiling; “it would be poor sport.”

There had been no change in his amused eyes, in his voice; yet, sensitive to the imperceptible, the girl looked up quickly.  He laughed and straightened up; and presently his eyes grew absent and his sun-burned hand sought his moustache.

“Have you misunderstood me?” she asked in a low voice.

“How, child?”

“I don’t know. . . .  Shall we walk a little?”

When they came to the stone fish-pond she seated herself for a moment on a marble bench, then, curiously restless, rose again; and again they moved forward at hazard, past the spouting fountain, which was a driven well, out of which a crystal column of water rose, geyser-like, dazzling in the westering sun rays.