music such us no June had made before; days snowed under with
roses, nights that seemed, as he remembered them, moonlit for a solid
month. The Governor sighed a lingering sigh, and quoted,

"Oh what a tangled web we weave
When first we practise to deceive!"

Yes, he must really wait--say two days longer. Then he might be sure
enough of her--regard--to tell her the truth. And then, a little later,
if he could control himself so long, another truth. Beyond that he did
not allow himself to think.

"Governor Rudd," asked Lindsay suddenly as they walked their horses the
last mile home from a ride on which they had gotten separated--the
Governor knew how--from the rest of the party, "why do they bother you
so about your wife, and why do you let them?"

"Can't help it, Miss Lindsay. They have no respect for me. I'm that sort
of man. Hard luck, isn't it?"

Lindsay turned her sad, infantile gray eyes on him searchingly. "I
reckon you're not," she said. "I reckon you're the sort of man people
don't say things to unless they're right sure you will stand it. They
don't trifle with you." She nodded her head with conviction. "Oh, I've
heard them talk about you! I like that; that's like our men down South.
You're right Southern, anyhow, in some ways. You see, I can pay you
compliments because you're a safe old married man," and her eyes smiled
up at him: she rarely laughed or smiled except with those lovely eyes.
"There's some joke about your wife," she went on, "that you-all won't
tell me. There certainly is. I _know_ it, sure enough I do, Governor
Rudd."

There is a common belief that the Southern accent can be faithfully
rendered in writing if only one spells badly enough. No amount of bad
spelling could tell how softly Lindsay Lee said those last two words.

"I love to hear you say that--'Guv'na Rudd.' I do, 'sho 'nuff,'" mused
the Governor out loud and irrelevantly. "Would you say it again?"

"I wouldn't," said Lindsay, with asperity. "Ridiculous! If you are a
Governor! But I was talking about your wife. Isn't she coming home
before I go? Sometimes I don't believe you have a wife."

That was his chance, and he saw it. He must tell her now or never, and
he drew a long breath. "Suppose I told you that I had not," he said,
"that she was a myth, what would you say?"

"Oh, I'd just never speak to you again," said Lindsay, carelessly. "I
wouldn't like to be fooled like that. Look, there are the others!" and
off she