on a time there was a girl and her name was Little
Red Riding Hood, and once as she was walking home in the dark, after an
unusually heavy tea, she met a wolf. And he said, 'Evening, Little Red
Riding Hood,' and she, though she was twittering with fear, and in no
condition for running because of the immensely heavy tea, said,
'Evening, Mr. Wolf.'"

"Come along then!" said Evelyn. "Already you have persuaded me that
Little Red Riding Hood is a pig, and that she is in great danger."

But we didn't walk to the Fultons', we strolled. And the deep dusk
turned to a velvety black night, soft and warm as a garment, and all
spangled over with stars. It was one of the Aiken nights that smells
of red cedar. We passed more than one pair of soft-voiced darkies who
appeared to lean against each other as they strolled, and from whom
came sounds like the cooing of doves. Once far off we heard shouting
and a pistol shot, and presently one came running and crossed our path
far ahead, but whether a white man or a black we could not tell.

The lights in the Fultons' yard had not yet been switched on. In a
recess cut from the foliage of a cedar tree, a white garden seat
glimmered in the starlight.

"It's too early to dress for dinner," I said, "and it's a pity to go
indoors."

Without a word Evelyn turned into the fragrant recess. The sudden
acquiescence of one usually so disputatious, where I was concerned,
troubled me a little, because I could not explain it to my
satisfaction. It never had happened before. I could not see her face
clearly enough to gather its expression, and so I put a cigarette in my
mouth and struck a match. It missed fire, and Evelyn said, "Please
don't. Unless you want to very much."

"I don't want to at all," I said; "it was just habit. Cedar smells
better than tobacco, and that's saying a good deal."

She did not answer and a few moments later I said:

"Any other couple, I suppose, seated on this bench in these
surroundings would make a noise like the cooing of doves. But either
you or I don't say anything, like tonight walking home, or we fight.
And yet I think that if the whole truth were told we like each other
quite a good deal. I admit that you often say hard things about me to
my face, but I deny that you say them behind my back. Behind my back I
have heard that you sometimes make valiant and comradely efforts
to--well to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, so to speak."

"I've al