Ralph sat nearer the end so that his weight bore the branch down almost to the ground.
“Peggy, you look like a tree nymph, or an elf, or whatever wood spirit is supposed to inhabit a tree. I am not well up on tree-ology, or anything else,” Ralph said good humoredly. “But you are so dark and your eyes and hair and skin are so brown. Besides somehow you have an altogether, outdoor look about you.”
Peggy laughed. “Do you mean that for a compliment, Ralph? Because, of course, I understand that translated your speech simply means I am tanned until I look like an Indian, or something else not completely civilised.”
Then Peggy’s expression changed and she actually flushed scarlet.
“There is something I want to ask you, Ralph, though now that I have the chance I had much rather not. You see, I realize that it isn’t true, but I owe it to you to be able to tell Howard Brent so. You didn’t make a bet with Terry Benton about me, did you? You didn’t say you would win my friendship by being attentive to me, just for the sake of a wager? My friendship really isn’t valuable enough, and in any case you could have had it without taking that much trouble.”
Because Ralph did not answer at once, Peggy bent over toward him from her higher place.
“I’m sorry, Ralph; naturally you are angry with me; but I didn’t believe the story for a minute.”
Ralph returned the girl’s look steadily. The expression of his face had never been stronger. His old expression of laughing good nature and plastic content with himself and circumstances at least temporarily disappeared.
“It is true though, Peggy,” he answered, “although I would give a good deal to be able to tell you it was not.”
In spite of his reply, Peggy continued to look puzzled.