re went alone up the path
through the trees and underbrush, until they emerged in the cool,
dusky gorge formed by the contracting of the rocky walls. The brook
rippled by over stones and moss. A few insects hovered over the stream
with their tiny bodies shining like bronze. From somewhere came a
sweet, honeyed smell of flowers.

"Imo writes letters regularly," Ruth explained concerning her friend,
"to an instructor in a university in the East. I don't think they're
exactly affianced, but expect to be. Waiting, apparently. Waiting
until he's a professor--and until her health is better, too, I
imagine. An agreement to let things rest as they are for the present,
one might say. Imogene talks very little about it, and of course I ask
no questions."

She sat down on a fallen tree, patting its trunk to signify a place
for him at her side. Pointing at crevises in the canon wall, she began
to tell him the names she and Imogene had given them--Bandit's Stair,
Devil's Crack, Bear's Hole, and to enumerate those assigned the
jutting points and knobs along the rim that by a stretch of the
imagination bore a resemblance to animals or human heads.

As she talked, with her gray eyes at times turning to his to learn if
he was interested, he felt anew the charm of her youthfulness, of her
vivid personality. It dwelt in her small, firm hands pointing now
here, now there, in her slender, rounded form faced toward him, in her
red lips, her soft smooth cheek, her brow, in her glances and her
animated words. He noted again, as a quality altogether delicious, the
air of unconscious friendliness that he had perceived at their very
first encounter. It quite offset the slight touch of obstinacy in her
chin--but, in truth, did the latter require an offset? He had earlier
thought that with such a trait one could not foretell where its
possessor might go, or what do, or what exact, under stress of
feeling. He smiled at that now. How ridiculous the notion! Why
shouldn't a girl have a bit of determination in her make-up? Well, she
should. It gave force to her character. It made her more individual,
more attractive. It coloured a nature so essentially feminine as Ruth
Gardner's with elusive and delightful possibilities.

"See, up yonder at the top!" she exclaimed. "That piece of rock like a
man's head and shoulders I named Lee Bryant, after you."

"Do I look as block-headed as that?"

"No. It was not because of any resemblance, but because you k