"Bored? Ah—you have been so sweet to me, dear friend," he ventured.
"I?" she returned. "I have not been even charitable. Your gratefulness is almost pathetic."
For some moments neither spoke. The still hunter stood his ground; he became part of the great hemlock beside him, his eyes riveted upon the man and woman. Now she dipped her hands in the cool, pure water, the doctor sitting close to her upon the edge of her skirt which she had spread for him, her trim feet placed firmly against a rock, the frou-frou of her petticoat framing her silken ankles.
"You see," she resumed at length, as if speaking to a spoiled child, "because you have been very, very good we are still friends—good friends—am I not right?"
"Yes," he confessed gloomily, irritated by her words. "And how long am
I to be your model friend?"
"Until you cease to be," she replied, smiling mischievously through her half-closed eyes.
"And then?" he asked eagerly.
"Then you may go home," she returned in a cool, delicious voice.
With an impatient gesture the doctor tossed his half-smoked cigarette into the stream. He shrugged his shoulders, gazing absently at the cigarette bobbing along in the current.
"You cast me off like that," he muttered gloomily, nodding to the cigarette. "Did you notice," he added, "how it still fought to burn?"