“You must get a straw hat, you know, or a sun-shade; it will be hot in half an hour.”
“Oh, I couldn’t stay out half an hour; fifteen minutes would be the longest.”
“All right, fifteen minutes, then, but do hurry.”
“I didn’t say that I would go,” she said, opening her eyes; “and yet I feel myself gone.” She laughed lightly.
“Do hurry,” he pleaded freshly; “oh, I am so hungry to—”
She disappeared within doors and five minutes later came back with one of those charming floppy English garden hats, tied with a muslin bow beneath her dimpled chin.
“This is so good of me,” she said, as they went down the steps.
“Very good, heavenly good,” said Jack; and then neither spoke again until they had crossed the Italian garden and entered the American wood. She looked into his eyes then and smiled half-shyly and half-provokingly.
“You are such a baby,” she said; “such a baby! Do ask me why and I’ll tell you half a dozen whys. I’d love to.”
The path was the smoothest and shadiest of forest paths, the hour was the sweetest and sunniest of summer hours, the moment was the brightest and happiest of all the moments which they had known together—up to now.