“Perhaps his physician has recommended gymnastics,” said Jack.

“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Rosscott laughing, and then she turned as if to go in.

“Oh, don’t,” said her lover, barring the way with great suddenness; “you really mustn’t, you know.  I’ve been patient for so long and been good for so long and I must be rewarded—­I really must.  Do come out with me somewhere—­anywhere—­for only a half-hour,—­please.”

She looked at him.

“Won’t Maude do?” she asked.

“No, she won’t,” he said beneath his breath; “whatever do you suggest such a thing for?  You make me ready to tell you to your face that you want to go as bad as I want you to go, but I shan’t say so because I know too much.”

“You do know a lot, don’t you?” said she, with an expression of great respect; “why, if you were to dare to hint to me that I wanted to go out with you instead of staying in and talking Rembrandt with Mr. Morley, I’d never forgive you the longest day I live.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” said he, “and you may be quite sure that I shall not say it.  On the contrary I shall merely implore you to forget your own pleasure in consideration of mine.”

“I really ought to devote the morning to Mr. Morley,” she said meditatively; “it’s such an honor his coming here, you know.”

“A little bit of a whiskered monkey,” said Jack in great disgust; “an honor, indeed!”

“He’s a very great man,” said Mrs. Rosscott; “every sort of institution has given him a few letters to put after his name, and some have given him whole syllables.”

“You must get a straw hat, you know, or a sun-shade; it will be hot in half an hour.”

“Oh, I couldn’t stay out half an hour; fifteen minutes would be the longest.”

“All right, fifteen minutes, then, but do hurry.”

“I didn’t say that I would go,” she said, opening her eyes; “and yet I feel myself gone.”  She laughed lightly.

“Do hurry,” he pleaded freshly; “oh, I am so hungry to—­”

She disappeared within doors and five minutes later came back with one of those charming floppy English garden hats, tied with a muslin bow beneath her dimpled chin.

“This is so good of me,” she said, as they went down the steps.

“Very good, heavenly good,” said Jack; and then neither spoke again until they had crossed the Italian garden and entered the American wood.  She looked into his eyes then and smiled half-shyly and half-provokingly.

“You are such a baby,” she said; “such a baby!  Do ask me why and I’ll tell you half a dozen whys.  I’d love to.”

The path was the smoothest and shadiest of forest paths, the hour was the sweetest and sunniest of summer hours, the moment was the brightest and happiest of all the moments which they had known together—­up to now.

“Do tell me,” he said; “I’m wild to know.”

He took her hand and laid it on his arm.  For that little while she was certainly his and his alone, and no man had a better claim to her.  “Go on and tell me,” he repeated.