you? Do you know the birds? They
like this place. And butterflies--I'd like to show you my collection."

"Oh, you collect?"

"Of course--specimens of all kinds. Birds, eggs, nests,
lepidoptera--I've got a museum down at the Manor. Next year you'll
have to come and see it."

"Next year!"

"Yes. You see--" Jerry's pause must have been that of embarrassment. I
think he realized that he had been going it rather rapidly. I didn't
hear this part of the dialogue until our third conversation. "Well,
you see, I'm not supposed to see any--any females until I'm
twenty-one. Not that I've ever wanted to, you know, but it seems
rather foolish that I can't ask you down, if you'd like to come."

Can you visualize a very modern young woman during this ingenuous
revelation? Jerry said that close, cool inspection of her slate-blue
eyes (he had, you see, also identified their color) rather
disconcerted him.

"I'm sure I should be delighted to come," she said with a gravity
which to anyone but Jerry would have made her an object of suspicion.

Jerry shook his head.

"But I--I'm afraid it wouldn't do. I've never given my word, but it's
an understanding--"

"With whom?"

"With Roger. He's my tutor, you know."

"Oh, I see. And Roger objects to--er--females?"

"Oh, yes, and so do I. They're so useless--most of them. You don't
mind my saying so, do you?"

"Oh, not at all," she replied, though I'm sure her lips must have been
twitching.

"Of course, you're different. You're really very like a boy. And I
don't doubt you're very capable."

"How--capable?"

"You look as if you could do things--I mean useful things."

At this she sank on a rock and buried her face in her hands, quivering
from head to foot. Jerry thought that she was crying.

"What's the--?"

She threw out her arms, leaned back against a tree, her long
suppressed merriment bubbling forth unrestrained.

"Oh, you'll be the death of me," she laughed, the tears running down
her cheeks. "I can't stand being bottled up another minute. I can't."

Jerry was offended.

"I don't see what there is to laugh at," he said with some dignity.

"You don't--that's just it, you don't, and that's what's so funny."

And she laughed again.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"You--!"

"I'm not half as funny as _you_ are, but I don't laugh at you."

"Y--you w-would if you didn't p-pity me so much," she gasped between
giggles.

"I don't pity you at all. And I think you're ext