"I was never more wide awake. There are too many things to think out and plan."
"Take the hammock, anyhow," he urged. "You can plan and rest, too."
She let herself be so far persuaded, and he brought pillows from the tent. As she let herself relax, she first realized how weary she had become, and closed her eyes that she might taste the full luxury of rest. The rhythmic chuckle of the little brook where the watercress grew was ineffably soothing. It seemed almost articulate, an elfish voice to which the small waves, lapping the shore, played a delicate accompaniment. She dreamily fitted words to its chant, and presently, still smiling at the conceit, strayed quite into the delectable land where water-sprites are real, and beautiful impossibilities matter of fact.
The shadows had lengthened when she woke. Her companion sat with his back to a tree trunk as before, but she perceived that he had stretched a bit of canvas to screen her from the slanting sun.
"It was best all round," he said, as she sprang up reproachfully. "It did you good and gave me leisure to think. I felt sorrier than ever while you lay there, smiling and dimpling in your sleep, like a child."
"I despise that dimple," avowed Jean, disgustedly.
"You despise it!"
"It's so—so feminine."
"Of course it is; that is no reason for abusing it."
"I think it's a mighty good reason. A dimple will be a great handicap in my life."