as bothering him
badly. Kenny must leave the farm. He must go soon; in a week. And
his wife must go with him.

Joan's breathless amazement made him laugh.

"But, Kenny, I--I can't!" she said.

"And I," said Kenny stubbornly, "can't and won't go away and leave you
here. The thought of winter and the hills and that barn of a house
when the wind is blowing would haunt me. No, no, girleen!"

Joan looked up and smiled and her soft eyes were wistful.

"Kenny, I must study for another year!"

"Another year!" said Kenny blankly. "Colleen, you've the wisdom of the
ages in your head right now."

Joan shook her head.

"I must learn to be your wife," she said. "Now it--it dazzles and
frightens me--"

"Joan!"

"Have you forgotten, Kenny, that I have lived my life up here in hills
and trees. And you--"

"Joan, please!" he begged in distress.

"But I can't forget," said the girl steadily. "Whenever I read the
article Garry sent about 'Kennicott O'Neill, brilliant painter'--think
of it, Kenny! 'Brilliant painter!'--I go back and read again just to
be sure I'm not dreaming. I've been so much alone that the thought of
going out into your world with you--terrifies me. I could not bear to
have you--sorry!"

"Mavourneen!" he said, shocked.

There were tears upon her cheeks.

"I would only ask that you be your own dear self," said Kenny gently.
"And every man of my world and every woman will stare and envy!"

"I must know music and French," said Joan, checking the need upon her
fingers. "I must know how to dance. Now when I talk I must have
something to say. Otherwise I feel shy and quiet. I must learn how to
talk a great deal without saying anything as you do sometimes."

He laughed in delight at the final need.

"All of it," declared Kenny happily, "I can teach you."

"No," said Joan with a definite shake of her head. "You would kiss me.
And I would always be right even when you knew I was wrong."

His eyes laughed at her mischievously. But he caught her hands and
pressed them to his lips.

"Listen, dear," he pleaded. "My world isn't a world of social climbers
or snobs or dollar-worshippers. It's a world of gifted men and women
who haven't time to look up your ancestors or your bank balance before
they decide to be friendly and kind. I know a poet whose mother was a
gypsy, a painter who's a baron and he says he can't help it, a French
girl who paints millionaire babies and her father was a t