o make. It seems a very slow way, too."

There was a hint of disappointment in the quick glance she turned upon
him.

"Have I lost caste?"

"No. I was just wondering-- But you're going to be successful, aren't
you? _Everybody_ can't be mistaken in you. Tell me what you want to do."

So he told her of his love for his work, of his studies and sketches, of
the beautiful churches that he hoped he should some day build.

It was early October; which is not unimportant. Before them opened a
vista of wooded hills, tinted by the first frosts dull yellows and
maroons, here and there a flash of rich crimson. A thin haze lay over
the land, violet in the distance, about them an almost imperceptible
golden. The voices of other players came softly to them, subdued and
lazy as an echo. Fading hillsides, dying leaves, blue horizons--autumn,
too, has its wistful charm, as potent as spring to bring young hearts
together.

"Everybody can't be mistaken," she repeated. "All those things you will
do. I feel it, too. It's something you can't explain. You _know_ a man
is big, just as you know a woman is good-- And you couldn't lose caste
with me. I'm poor, too."

He swept her with an incredulous glance that took in the beautiful, soft,
hand-knit sweater jacket, the white flannel skirt with its air of having
been fashioned by an expensive tailor, the white buckskins and bit of
white silk stocking. He knew girls, daughters of rich fathers, who did
not wear silk stockings for golfing.

She caught his glance. "Mostly presents," she answered it, "from an aunt
who has more money than she knows what to do with. The rest is just
splurge. It's quite true about my poverty. Ever since we were left
alone Maizie and I have had to work. We could have gone to live with my
aunt, but we wanted to be independent, to make our own living. And we've
made it, though," laughingly, "we've been pretty hard up sometimes. So
you see, I'm not a butterfly but just a working girl on her vacation.
Have _I_ lost caste?"

Needless question! As she asked it, her chin--her prettiest feature,
cleanly molded, curving gently back to the soft throat--went up
spiritedly. He caught a picture of a struggle far more cruel than her
light words implied. A wave of protest swept over him, of tender
protectiveness. He had to fight down an impulse to catch her close, to
cry out that thenceforth he would assume her burden. He rejoiced
intensely that he h