ch of the ancient red bridge and were at the
landing. I remember the scene as we stood on shore and looked down the
shining way of the river, the tall grasses bending on either side like
green fur stroked by the breeze; I remember the trim sea-wall and velvet
lawn, and the low, long house with leaded windows of the place next the
inn. A house-boat was moored to the shore below, white, with scarlet
geraniums flowing the length of the upper deck, and willow chairs and
tables; people were having tea up there; muslin curtains blew from the
portholes below. Some Americans went past with two enormous Scotch
deer-hound puppies on leash. "Be quiet, Jock," one of them said, and the
big, gentle-faced beast turned on her with a giant, caressing bound, the
last touch of beauty in the beautiful, quiet scene.

It was early, so that we took the table which pleased us, one set a bit
aside against a ten-foot hedge, and guarded by a tall bush of tea-roses.
A plump maid hurried across the lawn and spread a cloth on our table and
waited, smiling, as if seeing us had simply made her day perfect. And
the General gave the orders.

"The plum-cake is going to be wonderful," I said then, "and I'm hungry
as a bear for tea. But the best thing I've been promised this afternoon
is a fairy-story."

The shrapnel look flashed, keen and bright and afire, but I looked back
steadily, not afraid. I knew what sunlight was going to break; and it
broke.

"D'you know," said he, "I'm really quite mad to talk about myself. Men
always are. You've heard the little tale of the man who said, 'Let's
have a garden-party. Let's go out on the lawn and talk about me'? One
becomes a frightful bore quite easily. So that I've made rules--I don't
hector people about--about things I've been concerned with. As to the
incident I said I'd tell you, that would be quite impossible to tell
to--well, practically anyone."

My circulatory system did a prance; he could tell it practically to no
one, yet he was going to tell it to me! I instantly said that. "But
you're going to tell it to me?" I was anxious.

"Child, you flatter well," said the Marvelous Person, who had brought me
picnicking. "It's the American touch; there's a way with American women
quite irresistible."

"Oh--American women!" I remonstrated.

"Yes, indeed. They're delightful--you're witches, every mother's
daughter of you. But you--ah--that's different, now. You and I, as we
decided long ago, on day before y