“No, you don’t.  And I may die and never come back any more, and you’ll forget all about me.”

“I shan’t.  Don’t, I say.  Do you hear me, Genia, don’t.”

She looked for a handkerchief, and, failing to find one, wiped her eyes on the horse’s mane.

“What are you going to do when I am gone?”

“Work hard so you’ll be proud of me when you come back.”

“I shall be sixteen in two years.”

“And I, twenty-one.”

“You’ll be a man—­quite.”

“You’ll be a woman—­almost.”

“I don’t think I shall like you so much then.”

“I shall like you more.”

“Why?” she asked quickly.

“Why?  Oh, I don’t know.  Am I so awfully ugly, Genia?”

“Turn this way.”

He obeyed her, flushing beneath her scrutiny.

“I shouldn’t call you—­awful,” she replied at last.

“Am I so ugly, then?”

“Honour bright?”

“Of course,” impatiently.

“Then you are—­yes—­rather.”

He shook his head angrily.

“I didn’t think you’d be mean enough to tell me so,” he returned.

“But you asked me.”

“I don’t care if I did.  You might have said something pleasant.”

Her sensitive mouth drooped.  “I never think of your being ugly when I’m with you,” she said.  “It’s a good, strong kind of ugliness, anyway.  I don’t mind it.”

He smiled again.

“Looks don’t matter, anyway,” she went on soothingly.  “I’d rather a man would be clever than handsome;” then she added conscientiously, “only I’d rather be handsome myself.”

He looked at her closely.

“I reckon you will be,” he said.  “Most women are.  It’s the clothes, I suppose.”

Eugenia looked down at him for an instant in silence; then she held out her hands.

“I am going at daybreak,” she said.  “Will you come down to the road and tell me good-bye?”

“Why, of course.”

“But we must say good-bye now, too.  Did we ever shake hands before?”

“No.”

“Then, good-bye.  I must go.”

“Good-bye, dear—­darling.”

She touched her horse lightly with the willow, but promptly drew rein, regarding Nicholas with her boyish eyes.

“Do you think it would make it any easier if we kissed?” she asked.

“Geriminy!  I should say so!”

He caught her hands; she leaned over and he kissed her lips.  She drew back with the same frank laugh, but a flush burned his face and his eyes were sparkling.

“More, Genia,” he said, but she laughed and let the bridle fall.

“No—­no—­but it made me feel better.  There, good-bye, dear, dear Nick Burr, good-bye!”

Then she dashed past him, and a whirl of dust filled the solitary air.

He looked after her until she turned her horse into the Old Stage Road, and the clatter of the hoofs was gone.  When the stillness had fallen again he went slowly on his way.