"Why not follow the path to the lane,—I think there is a lane at the edge of the field,—and I will walk to the house with you. The path through the corn must be a little rough, and it's growing dark."
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Bassett."
"I had no idea of meeting any one when I came out. I usually take a little walk after supper when I'm here, and I wanted to get all the car smoke out of my lungs. I was glad to get out of Chicago; it was fiercely hot there."
The path was not wide enough for two and she walked before him. After they had exhausted the heat as a topic, silence fell upon them. He still swung his hat in his hand. Once or twice he smote his stick smartly upon the ground. He timed his pace to hers, keeping close, his eyes upon her straight slender figure. When they reached the lane they walked together until they came to the highway, which they followed to the house. An oil lamp marked the walk that led through Mrs. Owen's flower garden.
"Aren't you coming in, Mr. Bassett?" asked Sylvia, as they paused.
Her hand clicked the latch and the little white-washed gate swung open. In the lamplight their eyes met again.
"I'm sorry, but I must go home. This is the first time I've been here this summer, and my stay is short. I must be off again to-morrow."
"Oh, that's too bad! Marian has been telling me that you would stay a month, she will be terribly disappointed"
"My Western trip took more time than I expected I have a good deal to do at Fraserville and must get back there"
She stepped inside, thinking he delayed out of courtesy to her, but to her surprise he fastened the latch deliberately and lingered.