dding, drawing, sawing logs. He laughed at Sylvia's
attempts to best him, and in return beat about her ears with
statistics for timber cruising, explained the variations of the
Vermont and the scribner's decimal log rule, and recited log-scaling
tables as fluently as the multiplication table. They were in the midst
of this lively give-and-take, listened to with a mild amusement on
Arnold's part, when they emerged on a look-out ledge of gray slate,
and were struck into silence by the grave loveliness of the immense
prospect below them.

"--and of course," murmured Page finally, on another note, "of course
it's rather a satisfaction to feel that you are making waste land of
use to the world, and helping to protect the living waters of all
that--" He waved his hand over the noble expanse of sunlit valley. "It
seems"--he drew a long breath--"it seems something quite worth doing."

Sylvia was moved to a disinterested admiration for him; and it was a
not unworthy motive which kept her from looking up to meet his eyes
on her. She felt a petulant distaste for the calculating speculations
which filled the minds of all her world about his intentions towards
her. He was really too fine for that. At least, she owed it to her
own dignity not to abuse this moment of fine, impersonal emotion to
advance another step into intimacy with him.

But as she stood, looking fixedly down at the valley, she was quite
aware that a sympathetic silence and a thoughtful pose might make, on
the whole, an impression quite as favorable as the most successfully
managed meeting of eyes.

CHAPTER XXX

ARNOLD CONTINUES TO DODGE THE RENAISSANCE

A gaunt roaming figure of ennui and restlessness, Arnold appeared at
the door of the pergola and with a petulant movement tore a brilliant
autumn leaf to pieces as he lingered for a moment, listening moodily
to the talk within. He refused with a grimace the chair to which
Sylvia motioned him. "Lord, no! Hear 'em go it!" he said quite audibly
and turned away to lounge back towards the house. Sylvia had had time
to notice, somewhat absently, that he looked ill, as though he had a
headache.

Mrs. Marshall-Smith glanced after him with misgiving, and, under cover
of a brilliantly resounding passage at arms between Morrison and
Page, murmured anxiously to Sylvia, "I wish Judith would give up her
nonsense and _marry_ Arnold!"

"Oh, they've only been engaged a couple of months," said Sylvia.
"What's the h