suitors.  One of them, who had been unable to make the least impression on her heart, resolved to win her by a stratagem.  Walking one evening on the hill with her, the two stopped just at a turn in the walk—­I can show you the exact spot, with a chaperon—­and he fell into earnest discourse with her.  She was as cool and repellant as usual.  Just then he heard a party approaching; his chance had come.  The moment the party came in sight he suddenly kissed her.  Everybody saw it.  The witnesses discreetly turned back.  The girl was indignant.  But the deed was done.  In half an hour the whole Springs would know it.  She was compromised.  No explanations could do away with the fact that she had been kissed in Lovers’ Walk.  But the girl was game, and that evening the engagement was announced in the drawing-room.  Isn’t that a pretty story?”

However much Stanhope might have been alarmed at this recital, he betrayed nothing of his fear that evening when, after walking to the spring with Irene, the two sauntered along and unconsciously, as it seemed, turned up the hill into that winding path which has been trodden by generations of lovers with loitering steps—­steps easy to take and so hard to retrace!  It is a delightful forest, the walk winding about on the edge of the hill, and giving charming prospects of intervales, stream, and mountains.  To one in the mood for a quiet hour with nature, no scene could be more attractive.

The couple walked on, attempting little conversation, both apparently prepossessed and constrained.  The sunset was spoken of, and when Irene at length suggested turning back, that was declared to be King’s object in ascending the hill to a particular point; but whether either of them saw the sunset, or would have known it from a sunrise, I cannot say.  The drive to the Old Sweet was pleasant.  Yes, but rather tiresome.  Mr. Meigs had gone away suddenly.  Yes; Irene was sorry his business should have called him away.  Was she very sorry?  She wouldn’t lie awake at night over it, but he was a good friend.  The time passed very quickly here.  Yes; one couldn’t tell how it went; the days just melted away; the two weeks seemed like a day.  They were going away the next day.  King said he was going also.

“And,” he added, as if with an effort, “when the season is over, Miss Benson, I am going to settle down to work.”

“I’m glad of that,” she said, turning upon him a face glowing with approval.

“Yes, I have arranged to go on with practice in my uncle’s office.  I remember what you said about a dilettante life.”

“Why, I never said anything of the kind.”

“But you looked it.  It is all the same.”

They had come to the crown of the hill, and stood looking over the intervales to the purple mountains.  Irene was deeply occupied in tying up with grass a bunch of wild flowers.  Suddenly he seized her hand.

“Irene!”

“No, no,” she cried, turning away.  The flowers dropped from her hand.