“Come, Euan, you shall do me reason, now that my curly pate is innocent of powder, no French red to tint my lips and hide my freckles, and but a linsey-woolsey gown instead of chintz and silk to cover me!  So tell me honestly, does not the enchantment break that for a little while seemed to hold you near me?”

“Do you forget,” said I, “that I first saw my enchantress in rags and tattered shoon?”

“Oh!” she said, tossing her pretty head.  “Extremes attract all men.  But now in this sober and common guise of every day, I am neither Cinderella nor yet the Princess—­ merely a frowsy, rustic, freckled maid with a mouth somewhat too large for beauty, and the clipped and curly poll of a careless boy.  And I desire to know, once for all, how I now suit you, Euan.”

“You are perfection—­ once for all.”

“I?  What obstinate foolishness you utter!  In all seriousness—­ "

“You are—­ more beautiful than ever—­ in all seriousness!”

“What folly!” She began to laugh nervously, then shrugged her shoulders, adding:  “This young man is plainly partizan and deaf to reason.”

“Being in love.”

“You!  In love!  What nonsense!”

“Do you doubt it?”

“Oh!” she said carelessly.  “You are in love with love—­ as all men are—­ and not particularly in love with me.  Men, my dear Euan, are gamblers.  When first you saw me in tatters, you laid a wager with yourself that I’d please you in silks.  A gay hazard!  A sporting wager!  And straight you dressed me up to suit you; and being a man, and therefore conceited, you could scarcely admit that you had lost your wager to your better senses.  Could you?  But now you shall admit that in this frowsy, woollen gown the magic of both Cinderella and the Princess vanishes with yesterday’s enchantment, and, instead of Chloe, pink and simpering, only a sturdy comrade stands revealed who now, as guerdon for the future, strikes hands with you—­ like this!  Koue!” And with the clear and joyous cry on her lips she struck my palm violently with hers, nor winced under my quick-closing grip.

“Is all now clear and plain between us, Euan?” she inquired.  And it seemed to me that her eagerness and fervour rang false.

“You can not love me, then?” I asked in a low voice.

“I?  What has love to do with us—­ here in the woods—­ and I without knowledge and experience——­”

“You do not love me, then?”

“I can not.”

“Why?”

She made no answer, but bit her lip.

“You need not reply,” said I.  “Yet—­ that night I left Otsego—­ and when I passed you in the dark—­ I thought——­”

“My heart was full that night!  What comrade could feel less and still possess a human heart?” she said almost sullenly.

“Your letter—­ and mine—­ encouraged me to believe——­”

“I know,” she said, with the curt and almost breathless impatience of haste, “but have I ever denied our bond of intimacy, Euan?  Closer bond have I with no man.  But it must be a comrade’s bond between us....  I meant to make that plain to you—­ and doubtless, my heart being full—­ and I but a girl—­ conveyed to you—­ by what I said—­ and did——­”