--your interest in
athletics--"

"Oh, I say, Una," he cried, flushing a dark red. "It's not fair to--"

"I'm fearfully interested," she persisted calmly. "You know it's
actually gotten me into the habit of the sporting page. 'Walloping'
Houligan and 'Scotty' Smith, the Harlem knock-out artist, are no
longer empty names for me. They're real people with jabs and things."

"It's not kind of you--"

"I've been waiting breathlessly for your next encounter. I hope it's
with 'Scotty.' It would be so much more of an achievement to win from
a real knock-out artist--"

"Stop it, Una," he cried painfully. "I forbid you--"

"Do you mean," she asked innocently, "that you don't like to
discuss--"

"I--I'd rather talk of something else," he stammered. "I've stopped
boxing."

"Why?" wide-eyed. "The newspapers were wild about you. It _was_ a
fluke, wasn't it--Clancy 'getting' you in the ninth?"

"No," he muttered sullenly, "he whipped me fairly."

"Really. I'm awfully sorry. When one sets one's heart upon a thing--"

"Will you be quiet, Una?" he cried impetuously. "I won't have you
talking this way, of these things. I--I was jollied into the thing. I
mean," with a glance at me, "I never thought of the consequences.
It--it was only a lark. I'm out of it, for good."

"Oh!" she said in a subdued tone, her gaze upon a distant tree-trunk.
"It's too bad."

Whatever she meant by that cryptic remark, Jerry looked most
uncomfortable. Her irony had cut him to the quick, and her humor had
flayed his quivering sensibilities. That he took it without anger
argued much for the quality of the esteem in which he held her.
Another person, even I, in similar circumstances, would have courted
demolition. Secretly, I was delighted. She had struck just the right
note. He still writhed inwardly, but he made no effort at unconcern. I
think he was perfectly willing that she should be a witness of his
self-abasement.

"I was an idiot, Una, a conceited, silly fool. I deserve everything
you say. I think it makes me a little happier to hear you say it,
because if you weren't my friend you'd have kept quiet."

"I haven't said anything," she remarked urbanely. "And of course it's
none of my affair."

"But it _is_," he was insisting.

I had risen, for along the path some people were coming. Jerry and
Una, their backs being turned, were so absorbed in their conversation
that they did not hear the rustle of footsteps, but when I rose they
glanced