thing
they are not. No one dares to be just themselves. Everything, up here, is
so right--so true--so just what it is--and down there, everything tries so
hard to be just what it is not. The world even _sees_ so crooked that it
_can't_ believe when a thing is just what it is."

While watching the butterflies, she had turned away from the artist and,
in following their flight with her eyes, had taken a few light steps that
brought her into the open, grassy center of the glade. With her face
upturned to the opening in the foliage through which the butterflies had
disappeared, she had spoken as if thinking aloud, rather than as
addressing her companion.

Before the artist could reply, the beautiful creatures came floating back
as they had gone. With a low exclamation of delight, the girl watched them
as they circled, now, above her head, in their aerial waltz among the
sunbeams and leafy boughs. Then the man, watching, saw her--unheeding his
presence--stretch her arms upward. For a moment she stood, lightly poised,
and then, with her wide, shining eyes fixed upon those gorgeously winged
spirits whirling in the fragrant air, with her lips parted in smiling
delight, she danced upon the smooth turf of the glade--every step and
movement in perfect harmony with the spirit of care-free abandonment that
marked the movements of the butterflies that danced above her head.
Unmindful of the watching man, as her dainty companions
themselves,--forgetful of his presence,--she yielded to the impulse to
express her emotions in free, rhythmic movement.

Instinctively, Aaron King was silent--standing motionless, as if he feared
to startle her into flight.

Suddenly, as the girl danced--her eyes always upon her winged
companions--the insects floated above the artist's head, and she became
conscious of his presence. Her cheeks flushed and, laughing low,--as she
danced, lightly as a spirit,--she impulsively stretched out her arms to
him, in merry invitation--as though challenging him to join her.

The gesture was as spontaneous and as innocent, in its freedom, as had
been her offering of the gifts from mountain stream and bush. But the
man--lured into forgetfulness of everything save the wild loveliness of
the scene--started toward her. At his movement, a look of bewildered fear
came into her face; but--too startled to control her movements on the
instant, and as though impelled by some hidden power--she moved toward
him--blindly, unconsc