ssoms a foot
long is not enough; you must enter and disappear into a region of such
vines, and then loaf and stroll with an untroubled nose and your heart's
desire.

Even Larkin, when he paused under the towering entrance vines, a mauve
and a white, forgot his troubles. He filled his lungs with the delicious
fragrance, and years after the consciousness of it would come upon him
suddenly. And then coming upon tea-tables standing in the open and
covered with good things, and finding, among the white flannel and
muslin guests, Miss Tennant, very obviously on the lookout for him, his
cup was full. When they had drunk very deep of orangeade, and eaten jam
sandwiches followed by chicken sandwiches and walnut cake, they went
strolling (Miss Tennant still looking completely ethereal--a creature
that lived on the odor of flowers and kind thoughts rather than the more
material edibles mentioned above), and then Larkin felt that his cup was
overflowing.

Either because the day was hot or because of the sandwiches, they found
exclusive shade and sat in it, upon a white seat that looked like
marble--at a distance. Larkin once more filled his lungs with the breath
of wistaria and was for letting it out in further confessions of what he
felt to be his heart's ultimate depths. But Miss Tennant was too quick
for him. She drew five one-thousand-dollar bills from the palm of her
glove and put them in his hand.

"There," she said.

Larkin looked at the money and fell into a dark mood.

"What is this for?" he said presently.

"This is a loan," said she, "from me to you; to be a tiding over of
present difficulties, a reminder of much that has been pleasant in the
past, and an earnest of future well-doing. Good luck to you, David."

"I wish I could take it," said the young man with a swift, slanting
smile. "And at least I can crawl upon my stomach at your feet, and pull
my forelock and heap dust upon my head.... God bless you!" And he
returned the bills to her.

She smiled cheerfully but a little disdainfully.

"Very well, then," said she. "I tear them up."

"Oh!" cried Larkin. "Don't make a mess of a beautiful incident."

"Then take them."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Oh, you know as well as I do that a man can't borrow from a girl."

"A man?" asked Miss Tennant simply, as if she doubted having heard
correctly. Then, as he nodded, she turned a pair of eyes upon him that
were at once kind, pained, and deeply thoughtful. And she be