id it matter if the rigidity of some of her nightmare-born resolutions
got relaxed a little?) "Where do you want to go with me?"

He didn't answer for a minute, but when he did speak his voice was
steady enough. "There's a place up on the top of this hill where the
trees open out to the east, a lovely place. I went up there last night
after Rush had turned in. There'll be a moon along in a few minutes and
you can see it come up, from there. Could we wait for it?--I suppose Miss
Wollaston..."

"No, she'll be all right," Mary said. "Now that she thinks we're looking
for them."

As she moved up the slope she added, "I've a sort of interest in the
moon, myself, to-night."

"Perhaps if you'll take my hand--" he said stiffly. "It is dark here
under the trees."

Her single-minded intention had been to make him a little happier. She
liked him better to-night than ever, and that was saying a lot. But this
elaborate covering up of what he really wanted under the pretended need
of guiding her, tried her patience. The pretense was for himself, too, as
much as for her. He was holding her off at arm's length behind him as if
they were scaling an Alp!

In the spirit of mischief, half irritated, half amused, she crowded up to
his side and turned her hand so that their palms lay together. And she
said in a voice evenly matter-of-fact, "That's nicer, isn't it?"

He didn't succeed in producing anything audible in answer to that, but he
began presently, and rather at random, to talk. As if--she reflected,
mutinously,--some fact that must on no account be looked at would emerge,
un-escapable, the moment he stopped.

But the bewitching loveliness of the place he led her to made amends,
sponged away her irritation, brought back the Arcadian mood of the day. A
recently fallen apple tree just on the crest of the hill, offered in its
crotched arms a seat for both of them. With an ease which thrilled her he
lifted her in his hands to her place and vaulted up beside her. His arm
(excusably, again, for the hand was seeking a hold to steady him), crept
around behind her.

Once more he began to talk,--of nature, of the farm, of how it was the
real way to live, as we were meant to. One couldn't, of course, cut off
the city altogether. There were concerts and things. And the
companionship of old friends. Even at that it would be lonely. They had
felt it already. That was why it was such a marvelous thing to have her
here. She made a differen