"No, but you have. How the deuce did you know she would be here? All right, but she won't get away from me so easy this time. I see the old man's with her, and the idea of supposing that he could have been her husband is preposterous."
"Oh," Lyman laughed, "I thought you meant my—meant Eva McElwin."
"No, I mean the girl that flavored the apple. Come up and I'll introduce you to her."
"But have you met her?"
"I met her in the path a minute ago."
"But have you been introduced to her?"
"No, but I'll fix that all right. Come on."
Lyman was laughing, but Warren was deeply in earnest. They went up the hill toward the church. Everybody was outside in the shade, the preacher not having arrived. "There she is," Warren whispered; "that girl standing with that man near the door. Stand here till I go and fix it."
He hastened toward the man, and not the slightest abashed, walked up to him. He said something; the man spoke to the girl and Lyman saw Warren lift his hat. They stood for a few moments, talking, and then they came out toward Lyman, the girl blushing and hanging back, and Warren gently urging her.
"Miss Nancy Pitt," said Warren, approaching, "I have the honor to present Mr. Lyman, one of the best writers in the country, although he is not cut out for a newspaper man."