She saw him from a distance, turned in her saddle, lifting her
polo-mallet in recognition; and as he came, pushing his way across the
clearing, almost shoulder-deep through weeds, from which the
silver-spotted butterflies rose in clouds, she stripped off one stained
glove, and held out her hand to him.

"You were so long in coming," she managed to say, calmly, "I thought I'd
ride part way back to meet you; and fell a victim to these mulberries.
Tempted and fell, you see.... Are you well? It is nice to see you."

And as he still retained her slim white hand in both of his:

"What do you think of my new pony?" she asked, forcing a smile. "He's
teaching me the real game.... I left the others when Gray came up; Cuyp,
Phil Gatewood, and some other men are practising. You'll play to-morrow,
won't you? It's such a splendid game." She was talking at random, now,
as though the sound of her own voice were sustaining her with its
nervous informality; and she chattered on in feverish animation,
bridging every threatened silence with gay inconsequences.

"You play polo, of course? Tell me you do."

"You know perfectly well I don't--"

"But you'll try if I ask you?"

He still held her hand imprisoned--that fragrant, listless little hand,
so lifeless, nerveless, unresponsive--as though it were no longer a part
of her and she had forgotten it.

"I'll do anything you wish," he said slowly.

"Then _don't_ eat any of these mulberries until you are acclimated. I'm
sorry; they are so delicious. But I won't eat any more, either."

"Nonsense," he said, bending down a heavily laden bough for her. "Eat!
daughter of Eve! This fruit is highly recommended."

"Oh, Garry! I'm not such a pig as that!... Well, then; if you make me do
it--"

She lifted her face among the tender leaves, detached a luscious berry
with her lips, absorbed it reflectively, and shook her head with
decision.

The shadow of constraint was fast slipping from them both.

"You know you enjoy it," he insisted, laughing naturally.

"No, I don't enjoy it at all," she retorted indignantly. "I'll not taste
another until you are ready to do your part.... I've forgotten, Garry;
did the serpent eat the fruit he recommended?"

"He was too wise, not being acclimated in Eden."

She turned in her saddle, laughing, and sat looking down at him--then,
more gravely, at her ungloved hand which he still retained in both of
his.

Silence fell, and found them ready for it.