d
seemingly on the point of climbing over the stile.

"Flamby!" he cried.

She turned, descended, and came forward slowly, a wild-haired nymph; and
that odd shyness which sat so ill upon her was manifest in her manner.
She had expected Paul; had really been waiting for him--and she felt
that he knew it.

"Were you dreaming in the twilight?" he asked, merrily.

Flamby stood a little apart from him, staring down at the dusty road.
"No," she replied. "I was scared, so I came out."

"Scared? Of what?"

"Don't know. Just scared. Mother is over at Mrs. Fawkes', and it's not
likely I was going with her."

"Why not?"

"She hates me," explained Flamby, with brief simplicity.

"But why should she hate you?"

"Don't know," said Flamby, busily burrowing a little hole in the road
with the heel of her left shoe. Her shoes were new ones, and boasted
impudently high heels. She had been proud of her arched instep when
first she had worn the new shoes, and had been anxious that Paul, who
hitherto had seen her shod in the clumsy boots which she called her
"workers," should learn that she possessed small feet and slim ankles.
Now, perceiving his glance to be attracted to the burrowing operation,
she flushed from brow to neck, convinced that he believed her to have
worn the shoes for his particular admiration--which was true; and to
have deliberately drawn his attention to them--which was untrue. She had
been longing to hear Paul's voice again, and now that he stood before
her she told herself that he must be comparing her with the hundreds of
really pretty girls known to him, and thinking what an odd-looking,
ignorant little fool she was. Gladly would Flamby have fled, but she
lacked the courage to do so.

"So you were afraid," said Paul, smiling; "but not, on this occasion, of
my late uncle, I hope?"

Flamby had half expected the question, but nevertheless it startled her.
A Latin tag entered her mind immediately. "_O_," she began--and her
strange shyness overwhelming her anew, said no more.

Paul assumed that he had misunderstood her. "Pardon me," he prompted,
"but I'm afraid I failed to catch what you said."

"I said '_no_,'" declared Flamby untruthfully, and silently blessed the
dusk which veiled her flaming cheeks. Paul Mario abashed her. She
delighted to be with him, and, with him, longed to run away. She had
been conscious of her imperfections from the very moment that she had
seen him in Bluebell Hollow, had hesi