Mr. Flint.

Ben called out to him to hurry up and have some coffee before it was
cold; to which he coolly answered that he had had supper before he
started; and there I had put off ours half an hour for him, and then
kept the coffee boiling another half hour! I would have liked to shake
him.

Winifred saw that I was justly indignant; and though she can be as
peppery as anybody over her own quarrels, she is always bent on
smoothing down other people; so she called out:--

"Well, fortunately, Mr. Flint, you are not too late for 'the feast of
reason and the flow of soul;' and I am sure you did not get that all
alone there at the inn." I wondered if he appreciated that rather neat
little stab. Winifred does those things well, with a demure manner
which leaves people in doubt whether her remarks are vicious or simply
blundering. "Come, Leon," she added, turning to young Davitt, "you
know you promised to recite something for us."

Leonard stood up like a boy at school, and recited the speech from
"Marmion" where he and Douglas give it to each other like Dr. Cricket
and a hom[oe]opathic physician. Then he bobbed his head, just like a
schoolboy again, and said he must go. Winifred followed him, and
spoke to him, almost in a whisper. What they were talking about I
could not catch; but I heard her say, "I will do it for you, Leon; but
I wish to goodness it were anything else." Then Leonard answered, just
as if she had given him some great thing: "Oh, thank you, thank you!"
and then he disappeared. At the same moment Mr. Flint took his place
by her side.

Instead of joining us all, and making a jolly party, what does he do
but stand in the shadow of the three big pines talking to Winifred in
that insultingly low voice which seems to imply that people are
listening. I did, however, catch one or two things. I distinctly heard
Winifred say: "Oh, do go away!" and I heard him say: "I hope you will
cease to fear me when--" There I lost it again; but what could it
mean? Winifred _fear_ him!--fear _him_! She, who never feared the face
of clay! There is only one explanation, and yet that is too wildly
improbable!

I never saw any one more unlikely to inspire an affection. Flint by
name and Flint by nature,--cold and hard as rock itself; and for a
girl like Winifred! It never could be!--and yet, I confess, I don't
know what to think.

After they had talked together for some time, he swung himself down
the bank, pushed off the dor