"I saw you getting down from the tree," she said evasively, "but I thought it was a man stealing fruit."
"So you made a bolt for it?"
"Yes; was it very cowardly?"
"Not at all. If it had been a thief, and he'd thought you were suspicious, he might have turned nasty. But are you sure you didn't recognize me, and come to the conclusion that I was even less desirable than the man stealing the apples?"
She laughed nervously, knowing what was before her.
"No; why should I?"
"Because you've been avoiding me for the last ten days, ever since that tea-party your mother gave at the tennis club."
She looked to the ground; she looked to the forest of leaves above her head, where the rosy apples peered at her, beaming with their bright, healthy cheeks.
"You don't say anything to that," he said, striking his leggings with the little switch in his hand.
"I didn't know I had been," she replied, glancing up to the open candour of his eyes.