As the roar which followed this subsided, Katherine’s face cleared.  What right had she to make a pattern of solemn righteousness for this stranger and be insulted if he did not fit?  Certainly he was saintly—­she had seen his soul bared to her vision; but certainly he was human also, as this moment was demonstrating.  It flashed over her vaguely to wonder which was the dominant quality—­which would rule in a stress of temptation—­the saintly side or the human?  But at least he was human with a winning humanity.  His mirth and his enjoyment of it were as spontaneous as a mischievous, bright child’s, and it was easy to see that the charm of his remarkable voice attracted others as it had attracted her.

    “There was a young fellow from Clyde,
    Who was often at funerals espied—­”

he had begun, and with that, between her first shock and her swift recovery, with the contrast between the man of yesterday and the man of to-day, Katherine suddenly laughed aloud.  North stopped short, and turned and looked at her, and for a second and their eyes met, and each read recognition and friendliness.  The Limerick went on: 

      “When asked who was dead,
       He nodded and said,
    ‘I don’t know—­I just came for the ride.’”

“Eleven for Mr. North—­one-half minute more,” called Mr. Gale, and instantly North was in the breach: 

    “A sore-hipped hippopotamus quite flustered
    Objected to a poultice made of custard;
      ’Can’t you doctor up my hip
      With anything but flip?’
    So they put upon the hip a pot o’ mustard.’”

And the half-minute was done and North had won, and there was clapping of hands for the victor, and at once, before the little uproar was over, Katherine saw him speak a word to Mr. Gale, and saw the latter, turning, stare about as if searching for some one, and, meeting her glance, smile.

“I want to present Mr. North, Miss Newbold,” Gale said.

“Why did you laugh in the middle of my Limerick?  Had you heard it?” North demanded, as if they had known each other a year instead of a minute.

“No, I had not heard it.”  Katherine shook her head.

“Then why did you laugh?”

She looked at him reflectively.  “I don’t know you well enough to tell you that.”

“How soon will you know me well enough—­if I do my best?”

She considered.  “About three weeks from yesterday.”

* * * * *

Many things grow fast in southern climates—­fruits, flowers, even friendship and love.  Three weeks later, on a hot, bright morning of April, North and Katherine Newbold were walking down a road of Bermuda to the sea, and between them was what had ripened in the twenty-one days from a germ to a full-grown bud, ready to open at the lightest touch into flower.  As they walked down such a road of a dream, the man talked to the girl as he had never talked to any one