the town.
He had not, in his turn, reached the point where he would begin to
question her; he was too breathless in his consciousness of the
marvellous present hour. She had told him of the death of Roger Tabor,
the year before. "Poor man," she said, gently, "he lived to see 'how
the other fellows did it' at last, and everybody liked him. He was
very happy over there."

After a little while she had said that it was growing close upon
lunch-time; she must be going back.

"Then--then--good-bye," he replied, ruefully.

"Why?"

"I'm afraid you don't understand. It wouldn't do for you to be seen
with me. Perhaps, though, you do understand. Wasn't that why you
asked me to meet you out here beyond the bridge?"

In answer she looked at him full and straight for three seconds, then
threw back her head and closed her eyes tight with laughter. Without a
word she took the parasol from him, opened it herself, placed the
smooth white coral handle of it in his hand, and lightly took his arm.
There was no further demur on the part of the young man. He did not
know where she was going; he did not ask.

Soon after Norbert turned to follow them, they came to the shady part
of the street, where the town in summer was like a grove. Detachments
from the procession had already, here and there, turned in at the
various gates. Nobody, however, appeared to have gone in-doors, except
for fans, armed with which immediately to return to rockers upon the
shaded verandas. As Miss Tabor and Joe went by, the rocking-chairs
stopped; the fans poised, motionless; and perspiring old gentlemen,
wiping their necks, paused in arrested attitudes.

Once Ariel smiled politely, not at Mr. Louden, and inclined her head
twice, with the result that the latter, after thinking for a time of
how gracefully she did it and how pretty the top of her hat was, became
gradually conscious of a meaning in her action: that she had bowed to
some one across the street. He lifted his hat, about four minutes
late, and discovered Mamie Pike and Eugene, upon the opposite pavement,
walking home from church together. Joe changed color.

There, just over the way, was she who had been, in his first youth, the
fairy child, the little princess playing in the palace yard, and always
afterward his lady of dreams, his fair unreachable moon! And Joe,
seeing her to-day, changed color; that was all! He had passed Mamie in
the street only a week before, and she had seemed