“Boyd,” I said abruptly.  “Who is that handsome wench that followed us from Otsego?”

“Dolly Glenn?”

“That is her name.”

“Lord, how she pesters me!” he said fretfully.  “I chanced upon her at the Middle Fort one evening—­ down by the river.  And what are our wenches coming to,” he exclaimed impatiently, “that a kiss on a summer’s night should mean to them more than a kiss on a night in summer!”

“She is a laundress, is she not?”

“How do I know?  A tailoress, too, I believe, for she has patched and mended for me; and she madded me because she would take no pay.  There are times,” he added, “when sentiment is inconvenient——­”

“Poor thing,” I said.

“My God, why?  When I slipped my arm around her she put up her face to be kissed.  It was give and take, and no harm done—­ and the moon a-laughing at us both.  And why the devil she should look at me reproachfully is more than I can comprehend.”

“It seems a cruel business,” said I.

“Cruel!”

“Aye—­ to awake a heart and pass your way a-whistling.”

“Now, Loskiel,” he began, plainly vexed, “I am not cruel by nature, and you know it well enough.  Men kiss and go their way—­ —­ "

“But women linger still.”

“Not those I’ve known.”

“Yet, here is one——­”

“A silly fancy that will pass with her.  Lord!  Do you think a gentleman accountable to every pretty chit of a girl he notices on his way through life?”

“Some dare believe so.”

He stared at me, then laughed.

“You are different to other men, of course,” he said gaily.  “We all understand that.  So let it go——­”

“One moment, Boyd.  There is a matter I must speak of—­ because friendship and loyalty to a childhood friend both warrant it.  Can you tell me why Lana Helmer is unhappy?”

A dark red flush surged up to the roots of his hair, and the muscles in his jaw tightened.  He remained a moment mute and motionless, staring at me.  But if my question, for the first moment, had enraged him, that quickly died out; and into his eyes there came a haggard look such as I had never seen there.

He said slowly: 

“Were you not the man you are, Loskiel, I had answered in a manner you might scarcely relish.  Now, I answer you that if Lana is unhappy I am more so.  And that our unhappiness is totally unnecessary—­ if she would but listen to what I say to her.”

“And what is it that you say to her?” I inquired as coolly as though his answer might not very easily be a slap with his fringed sleeve across my face.

“I have asked her to marry me,” he said.  “Do you understand why I tell you this?”

I shook my head.

“To avoid killing you at twenty paces across the river....  I had rather tell you than do that.”

“So that you have told me,” said I, “the reason for your telling matters nothing.  And my business with you ends with your answer....  Only—­ she is my friend, Boyd—­ a playmate of pleasant days.  And if you can efface that wretchedness from her face—­ brighten the quenched sparkle of her eyes, paint her cheeks with rose again—­ do it, in God’s name, and make of me a friend for life.”