room.

"Thank you--I'm afraid I must," and she reluctantly placed a light hand
on my sleeve.

I did not like that condescending compulsion, and now out of danger, I
became strangely embarrassed and angry in her presence. The "mastiff"
epithet stuck like a barb in my boyish chivalry. Was it the wind, or a
low sigh, or a silent weeping, that I heard? I longed to know, but would
not turn my head, and my companion was lagging just a step behind. I
slackened speed, so did she. Then a voice so low and soft and golden it
might have melted a heart of stone--but what is a heart of stone
compared to the wounded pride of a young man?--said, "Do you know, I
think I rather like mastiffs?"

"Indeed," said I icily, in no mood for raillery.

"Like _them_ for friends, not enemies, to be protected by _them_,
not--not bitten," the voice continued with a provoking emphasis of the
plural "_them_."

"Yes," said I, with equal emphasis of the obnoxious plural. "Ladies find
_them_ useful at times."

That fling silenced her and I felt a shiver run down the arm on my
sleeve.

"Why, you're shivering," I blundered out. "You must let me put this
round you," and I pulled off the plaid and would have placed it on her
shoulders, but she resisted.

"I am not in the least cold," she answered frigidly--which is the only
untruth I ever heard her tell--"and you shall not say '_must_' to me,"
and she took her hand from my arm. She spoke with a tremor that warned
me not to insist. Then I knew why she had shivered.

"Please forgive, Miss Sutherland," I begged. "I'm such a maladroit
animal."

"I quite agree with you, a maladroit mastiff with teeth!"

Mastiff! That insult again! I did not reproffer my arm. We strode
forward once more, she with her face turned sideways remote from me, I
with my face sideways remote from her, and the plaid trailing from my
hand by way of showing her she could have it if she wished. We must have
paced along in this amiable, post-matrimonial fashion for quite a
quarter of the mile we had to go, and I was awkwardly conscious of
suppressed laughing from her side. It was the rippling voice, that
always seemed to me like fountain splash in the sunshine, which broke
silence again.

"Really," said the low, thrilling, musical witchery by my side, "really,
it's the most wonderful story I have ever heard!"

"Story?" I queried, stopping stock still and gaping at her.

"Perfectly wonderful! So intensely interesting and delig