“You look so white——­”

“I am perfectly well.  Bend over the parapet with me, Duane.  Look at those rocks down there.  What a tumble!  What a death!”

He placed his glass between them on the coping, and leaned over.  She did not notice the glass for a moment.  Suddenly she wheeled, as though he had spoken, and her eyes fell on the glass.

“What is the matter?” he demanded, as she turned on her heel and moved away.

“I’m a trifle nervous, I believe.  If you want to see the big trout breaking on Hurryon, you’d better come with me.”

She was walking swiftly down the drive to the south of the house.  He overtook her and fell into slower step beside her.

The sun had almost disappeared behind the mountains; bluish haze veiled the valley; a horizon of dazzling yellow flecked with violet faded upward to palest turquoise.  High overhead a feathered cloud hung, tinged with rose.

The south drive was bordered deep in syringas, all over snowy bloom; and as they passed they inhaled the full fragrance of the flowers with every breath.

“It’s like heaven,” said Duane; “and you are not incongruous in the landscape, either.”

She looked around at him; the smile that curved her mouth had the faintest suspicion of tenderness about it.

She said slowly: 

“Do you realise that I am genuinely glad to see you?  I’ve been horrid to you.  I don’t yet really believe in you, Duane.  I detest some of the things you are and say and do; but, after all, I’ve missed you.  Incredible as it sounds, I’ve been a little lonely without you.”

He said gaily:  “When a woman becomes accustomed to chasing the family cat out of the parlour with the broom, she misses the sport when the cat migrates permanently.”

“Have you migrated—­permanently?  O Duane!  I thought you did care for me—­in your own careless fashion——­”

“I do.  But I’m not hopelessly enamoured of your broom-stick!”

Her laugh was a little less spontaneous, as she answered: 

“I know I have been rather free with my broom.  I’m sorry.”

“You have made some sweeping charges on that cat!” he said, laughing.

“I know I have.  That was two months ago.  I don’t think I am the morally self-satisfied prig I was two months ago....  I’d be easier on anything now, even a cat.  But don’t think I mean more than I do mean, Duane,” she added hastily.  “I’ve missed you a little.  I want you to be nice to me....  After all, you’re the oldest friend I have except Kathleen.”

“I’ll be as nice as you’ll let me,” he said.  They turned from the driveway and entered a broad wood road.  “As nice as you’ll let me,” he repeated.

“I won’t let you be sentimental, if that’s what you mean,” she observed.

“Why?”

“Because you are you.”

“In a derogatory sense?”

“Somewhat.  I might be like you if I were a man, and had your easy, airy, inconsequential way with women.  But I won’t let you have it with me, my casual friend.  Don’t hope for it.”