cross her shoulder to the companion so close
beside her, the auburn curls tumbled about her forehead and her mouth
tempting as a small scarlet fruit.

"And then, we were like this when--guess what Corrie did?"

It was not in the least difficult to guess what the enamoured Corrie had
done. But Gerard shook his head, schooling his mirthful eyes.

"I could not, possibly, Miss Rose. I am very dull."

"Well, what would _you_ have done?"

"I? I should have shut both eyes and recalled St. Francis' rules of
deportment."

Isabel straightened herself, leaning back and folding her hands in her
lap.

"That's what Corrie did not do," she stated. "So I will not ride with
him. It was bad taste."

"I imagine Corrie found the taste most pleasant."

"Oh!"

"Have I guessed wrong?"

"You said that you were dull, Mr. Gerard."

"Then the guess is wrong. Poor Corrie!"

She shrugged her shoulders impatiently.

"You think a great deal about Corrie."

"Yes. We are friends," Gerard quietly answered.

She was clever enough to recognize the bar he set to flirtation with the
woman loved by the man he gave that name, and she regarded the obstacle
as a challenge. She was not sufficiently old or fine to realize that
such bars are not crossed by such men. If Gerard had loved her or
believed she might love him, he must have left his friend's house; as
Corrie would have left Gerard's in like case. As a matter of fact,
Gerard was perfectly aware of the immunity of both parties and that
Isabel was merely seeking temporary diversion--experimenting with the
possibilities of her own heady youth.

A forking of the road supplied a new subject for discussion.

"Turn to the left," Isabel directed, sitting erect.

Surprised, Gerard checked the machine.

"We did not come that way, Miss Rose."

"Of course not; you came by the long route, past the Goodwin farm. This
is a better road."

"Better?"

She followed his gaze down the vista of slippery, rut-grooved mud, and
colored.

"A shorter road, then," she amended petulantly. "I am sure I don't
care--go the long way if you wish. The storm is blowing back again, but
I can stand the rain."

Gerard hastily turned into the wretched travesty of a road.

"I beg your pardon; I only wondered if you were quite certain of the
route," he apologized.

There ensued a period of silence. The little car slipped and wallowed
through sliding mud and yellow puddles.

"I hope you do not drive here, you