"I am almost afraid of you," said Dic, when he had closed the gate and was taking his place beside her for the walk.
"Why?" asked Rita, delightedly. Her heart was full of the spring and Dic; what more could she desire?
"Your gown, your bonnet, your dainty shoes, your gloves, your beauty, all frighten me," said Dic. "I can't believe they belong to me. I can't realize they are mine."
"But they are," she said, flashing up to him a laughing glance from her eyes. "My new gown should not frighten you."
"But it does," he returned, "and you, too."
"I am glad if I frighten you," she answered, while lacing her gloves. "I have been afraid of you long enough. It is your turn now."
"You have been afraid of me?" asked Dic in surprise.
"Yes," she returned quite seriously. "I have always been slightly afraid of you, and I hope I always shall be. The night of Scott's social I was simply frightened to death, and before that night for a long, long time I was in constant fear of you. I was afraid you would speak of—you know—and I was afraid you would not. I did not know what terrible catastrophe would happen if you did speak, and I did not know what would happen to me if you did not. So you see I have always been afraid of you," she said laughingly.
"Why, Rita, I would not harm a hair of your head."
"Of course not. I did not fear you in that way. You are so strong and big and masterful; that is what frightens me. Perhaps I enjoy fearing you just a bit."