The man turned to look at her trophy. "Oh, no! I mean the way," she explained. "It is strange, but it makes me think of heaven."
"The streets of gold?" he smiled.
"M—no," she replied doubtfully. "I can't quite tell myself; but I think it is the peace and the glory of it—the spirit of the place."
His eyes were on her face, and the car bumped over a stone.
"There! That's because I was looking at you!" he laughed. "A motorman shouldn't gaze at a princess."
She gave a little gurgling laugh; then she grew grave again.
"What do you say," he asked abruptly, "to keeping on over the mountain to Bryston and have dinner?"
Her heart gave a joyful leap, yet she answered quietly, "I am afraid—I'd better not."
"Oh, yes," he urged, "let's keep on! I am selfish, I know; but I'd rather eat dinner with you than to eat it at home alone, and I'm sure that Squirrel Inn will give you a more appetizing meal than the Dragon will furnish."
"I dare say," she responded. "What a bewitching name for an inn!
Is it as captivating as it sounds?"