them through the
woods. When they emerged upon the highway it wrapped them densely round,
and formed a little world, cosy, intimate, where they two dwelt alone
with these friends of theirs, each of whom they praised for delightful
qualities. The horses beat along through the mist, in which there seemed
no progress, and they lived in a blissful arrest of time. Miss Anderson
called back from the front seat, "My ear buyns; you're talkin' about
me."

"Which ear?" cried Mavering.

"Oh, the left, of couyse."

"Then it's merely habit, Julie. You ought to have heard the nice things
we were saying about you," Alice called.

"I'd like to hear all the nice things you've been saying."

This seemed the last effect of subtle wit. Mavering broke out in his
laugh, and Alice's laugh rang above it.

Mrs. Pasmer looked involuntarily round from the carriage ahead.

"They seem to be having a good time," said Mrs. Brinkley at her side.

"Yes; I hope Alice isn't overdoing."

"I'm afraid you're dreadfully tired," said Mavering to the girl, in a
low voice, as he lifted her from her place when they reached the hotel
through the provisional darkness, and found that after all it was only
dinner-time.

"Oh no. I feel as if the picnic were just beginning."

"Then you will come to-night?"

"I will see what mamma says."

"Shall I ask her?"

"Oh, perhaps not," said the girl, repressing his ardour, but not
severely.

XVIII.

They were going to have some theatricals at one of the cottages, and the
lady at whose house they were to be given made haste to invite all the
picnic party before it dispersed. Mrs. Pasmer accepted with a mental
reservation, meaning to send an excuse later if she chose; and before
she decided the point she kept her husband from going after dinner into
the reading-room, where he spent nearly all his time over a paper and a
cigar, or in sitting absolutely silent and unoccupied, and made him go
to their own room with her.

"There is something that I must speak to you about," she said, closing
the door, "and you must decide for yourself whether you wish to let it
go any further."

"What go any further?" asked Mr. Pasmer, sitting down and putting his
hand to the pocket that held his cigar-case with the same series of
motions.

"No, don't smoke," she said, staying his hand impatiently. "I want you
to think."

"How can I think if I don't smoke?"

"Very well; smoke, then. Do you want this affair with you