“And really I wasn’t altogether sure; and then, it occurred to me that nothing on the face of the earth would ever persuade you to marry Maude. And I saw my card castle go smashing down, and then I saw that I really am a philosopher, after all, for—for I didn’t mind a bit!”
Jack threw his head back and roared.
“Oh,” he said after a minute, “you are so refreshing. You ruffle me up just to give me the joy of smoothing me down, don’t you?”
“I do what I can to amuse you,” she said, demurely. “You are my father’s guest and my brother’s friend, and so I ought to—oughtn’t I?”
“Yes,” he said, “I have a two-fold claim on you if you look at it that way and some day I mean to go to work and unfold still another.”
They had come to a delightful little nook where the trees sighed gently, “Sit down,” and there seemed to be no adequate reason for refusing the invitation.
“Let’s rest, I know you’re tired,” the young man said gently, and the next minute found his companion down upon the soft grass, her back against a twisted tree-root and her hands about her knees.
He threw himself down beside her and the hush and the song of mid-summer were all about them, filling the air, and their ears, and their hearts all at once.
Presently he took her hand up out of the grass where its fingers had wandered to hide themselves, and kissed it. She looked at him reprovingly when it was too late, and shook her head.
“Such a little one!” he said.