The lady gave a little scream.
"'Gene Brassfield!" she ejaculated; and then, with a little quivering emphasis, "You! How you frightened me!"
"I know, I know!" replied Brassfield, peeping under the big hat into her eyes. "Almost scared to death, as is quite proper. But, to my question: how long, how long hast been here?"
"Oh, several days—before you came back. Aunty wanted me to be here when her sister, my Aunt Hunter from Hazelhurst—that's up in Wisconsin—visits her. There's to be a reception. Of course you'll be there, and——"
"Of course," responded Brassfield. "Did I ever absent myself from any social affair in which your charming aunt, Mrs. Pumphrey, is interested? Nay, nay; but don't dodge. Why this throw-down? Why didn't you let me know——"
"'Gene," said the girl, "you can't deceive me. I'm ashamed that I wrote the note, and your telling a fib about getting it won't make it any better. But it was wicked of you not to answer. I only wanted you to come to me and—and talk it all over, and say good-by for ever. It wasn't necessary to——"
"I have never received any note," said Brassfield, totally unconscious of the missive which Amidon had promptly waste-basketed. "What was it?"
"Really? Didn't you?" she queried, pouting her red lips most kissably. "A little note, unsigned, with some—some verses? No? Then I'll forgive you—for that. But—go on, 'Gene, up to the house yonder—go on!"
"You oughtn't to be permitted to run at large," said he, "with that hat, and those lips. I wonder if any one's looking?"
"You mustn't talk that way," she said, "nor look at me like that! Go on, or I shall cry—or something quite as bad! Or, maybe you'll come in? Billy Cox is in there waiting for me, and watching, I dare say."