ut I have
forgotten what it was. Whythe told me, and as it doesn't matter, being
over for such a long time, I haven't tried to remember. The sky was so
wonderful and the river so winding and lovely and the air so delicious
that yesterdays did not seem important and only to-day counted; and it
was when we were sitting under a beautiful big water-oak that Whythe
began to be terribly sentimental and say things that would have been
more suitable for moonlight and shadows and things of that sort. But
suitable or not, they were thrilly to hear, and I would have enjoyed
hearing them if it hadn't been for an abominable feeling that Billy was
right beside me hearing every word also, and with a look on his face as
if he thought my new friend was the foolest yet. And presently when I
couldn't stand it any longer (I mean stand Billy standing by) I got up
suddenly and told Whythe it was time to go home.

I interrupted him in the midst of a beautiful sentence about my
eyelashes, I think, or maybe it was something else, I don't remember;
but anyhow when I jumped up he was very much surprised and wanted to
know what was the matter. I couldn't tell him, but I was perfectly
furious with Billy and the look on his face, which seemed to say what
I'd heard him say often about fool-flum talk and feather-headed fellows
and things of that sort. And I was so mad I rode so fast Whythe
couldn't keep up with me or continue the conversation, but it has been
continued since. That is the main theme, though the variations are
always different. Whythe never seems to give out on variations.

Of course, all of Miss Susanna's boarders, which are only four besides
myself, had something to say in general about the faithlessness of men
and the flirtatiousness of girls, and how times had changed, and how
you couldn't put your hand on any human being and feel you could trust
him in these days, and how men were gobbled up before they had got
their breath good after painful experiences, and dozens of other things
on that order. And I had such a good time listening to them, though
they didn't talk directly to me, that I'd forget at times and nearly
screech out loud at the tones of voice in which they did me up, and
then I would remember and try to look serious. But seriousness doesn't
seem to fit my face--that is, seriousness over sillinesses--and it
wouldn't stay on very long.

They thought it very indelicate in me to walk away with Elizabeth's
sweet