"No."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Then what——"
"I can't tell you. Anyway, it won't last. It can't, ... Can it?"
She looked around at him, and they both laughed a little at her inconsequence.
"I feel better for pretending to tell you, anyway," she said, as they halted before high iron gates hung between two granite posts from which the woven wire fence of the game park, ten feet high, stretched away into the darkening woods on either hand.
"This is the Sachem's Gate," she said; "here is the key; unlock it, please."
Inside they crossed a stream dashing between tanks set with fern and tall silver birches.
"Hurryon Brook," she said. "Isn't it a beauty? It pours into the Gray Water a little farther ahead. We must hasten, or it will be too dark to see the trout."