“I believe you’re afraid of me,” she said, laughing.
“I am,” he answered, and she suddenly stopped laughing.
“You’d better let me alone,” he went on. “I don’t understand your ways. Things you think are funny make me miserable.”
“I don’t want a bit to make you miserable, and I certainly don’t see anything funny in—in this thing. Do come on! Mother and Edna will be home, and then we can’t go.”
She went on, and he reluctantly followed her white figure. They went along the road, walking quietly on its grassy border, he always a little behind her. It was a mild beautiful night, a night on which one could walk forever. Behind the pine trees there was a marvelous faint radiance, the path of the coming moon. The breeze blowing across the apple orchard they were passing brought a wine-like perfume and an exquisite rustling of leaves. The young man looked steadfastly down at his white tennis shoes moving soundlessly over the grass.
They came to the pasture through which Andrée had once refused to go, and they saw the great, dim shapes of the cows standing motionless in there.
“I suppose you want to go around—” said he.
“No; I shan’t be afraid, if you’ll stay near me,” she answered.
He let down the bars, and carefully replaced them when they had gone through.
“Don’t run,” he said, “and they won’t pay any attention to you.”