"Yes, Jim. What's up?"
"Come here."
Law came forward, smudgy and dauby, pallette on thumb.
"Tell me how Miss Walden looks. I want to place her. She has a ghastly habit of escaping me when I'm alone and thinking her over. I can't seem to fix her."
"Well," Law stood off and regarded Donelle seriously, "She's red headed and thin. She ought to be fed up. I don't believe she can stand the city in summer. She doesn't walk very well, she's at her best when running."
"Oh! Mr. Law." Donelle found herself laughing in spite of herself.
"Well, you are. I've caught you running two or three times on the street. You looked as if you had your beginnings in wide spaces and could not forget them."
"I—I am a country girl," the practical young voice almost broke. "I hate the city. Maybe I do run sometimes. I always feel that something is after me."
"What?" asked Norval, and he, too, was laughing.
His old depression seldom came now when his faithful reader was present.