“Casual demon—­what have you been up to?” she greeted him with mock severity.

“Prowling on the ridge.  It was gorgeous up there,” he answered, noticing in detail the curve of her eyelid and thick dark lashes.

“Well, tea’s half cold and most of it eaten; and Aunt Lila seemed wondering a little.  So I offered to go and unearth you.”

“How could you tell?”

A dimple dipped in one cheek.  “I couldn’t!  I was going to the wood, on chance.  Come along.”

“No hurry.  If tea’s half cold, it can wait a bit longer.”  He drew a breath, nerving himself; then:  “Tara—­I’ve got a proposal to make.”

“Roy!” Her lips quivered, just perceptibly, and were still.

“Well, it’s this.  Wouldn’t it be splendid if you came along out—­with us three?”

“Roy!” It was a changed intonation.  “That’s not a subject for a practical joke.”

“But I’m in earnest.  High Tower Princess, wouldn’t you love to come?”

“Of course I would.”  Was it his fancy, or did the blood stir ever so little in her cheeks?  “But it’s utterly, crazily impossible.  The sort of thing only you would suggest.  So please let be—­and come along in.”

“Not till you promise.  I’m dead set on this.  And I’m going to have it out with you.”

“Well, you won’t have me out with you—­if you talk till midnight.”

“Why not?”

Her smile had its delicious tremulous quality.  “Were you twenty-one last birthday—­or twelve?  If you think you’ll be lonely, ask for Christine.  She’s your sister—­I’m not!”

The emphasis and faint inflection of the last words had their intended effect.  Roy’s face fell.  “O-oh, I see.  But you’ve always been my sort of sister.  Thea would understand.  And nowadays girls do all sorts of things.”

“Yes—­they do!” Tara agreed demurely.  “They scratch faces and burn down beautiful harmless houses.  But they don’t happen to belong to mother.  Roy—­it’s what I said—­crazily—­utterly——­ If it wasn’t, d’you suppose I’d say No?”

Then Roy knew he was beaten.  Also he knew she was right and that he had been an impulsive fool—­depressing convictions both.  For a moment he stood nonplussed while Tara fingered a long chain he had given her, and absently studied a daisy-plant that had dared to invade the oldest, loveliest lawn in that part of the country.

But Roy was little used to being thwarted—­by home elements, at least:  and when an idea seized him he could be pertinacious, even to the point of folly.  He was determined Tara should come with him.  And Tara wanted to come.  Add her permanent dearness and her newly-found loveliness, and there sprang from the conjunction a second inspiration, even bolder than the first.

“Tara—­dear,” he ventured, in a changed tone that halted between tenderness and appeal.  “I’m going to say—­something tremendous.”

She deserted the daisy and faced him, blue eyes wide; her tell-tale lower lip drawn in.