sudden realization that her hostess understood her motives and
actions. What a mercy that big, blundering, honest John Dunham had not
connected himself with Sylvia's fantasies, although his joking had
fitted in so well with her plans!

In the absence of other interests, and the idleness of pleasant hours,
John had shown considerable interest in Sylvia. Edna had on several
occasions resented the trifling signs of his admiration, fearing they
might mislead so inexperienced a girl as her guest, even supposing the
girl were not already making a hero of him, and bent upon his
subjugation.

The thoughts of the pair were running along parallel lines as they
pursued the woodland path, and at last John came to himself.

"Pardon my stupidity, Edna. Sylvia says it's a great proof of
friendship for two people to be silent when together."

"Especially if they tell their thoughts afterward," rejoined the girl.
"What were yours?"

Dunham hesitated a moment. "I was thinking it was a pity if Miss Sylvia
has overtired herself."

"And I," said Edna, "was thinking it was a pity for you to pursue even
a mild flirtation with her. She hasn't met many men of your stamp,--she
is only a grown-up child, as you have seen."

"I don't know," replied John deliberately. "I'm making up my mind
slowly but surely that she is a jewel."

Surprise and something like contempt flashed over Edna's face. "Is it
since you drank the blueberry juice?" she asked, and the next moment
could have bitten her tongue for its rashness.

Dunham showed no surprise. "Oh, it's a gradual estimate," he said.

The girl laughed. "Very gradual. Is it three days or four?"

"Time doesn't enter much into that sort of impression."

"Well, it should," responded Edna decidedly.

They said no more, but reaching the ledges seated themselves in the lee
of a sheltering rock, and read, and gazed, until the swift passing
hours brought them to a realizing sense that the anxious housekeeper
would begin to be on the lookout.

"Well," remarked John with a luxurious sigh, "our friends don't know
what they missed by scorning our invitation."

Edna said nothing, but the memory of her parting words with Sylvia
began to be an uncomfortable one. The situation was emphasized by her
guests' failure to join them here. She had not really supposed that
Sylvia could feel easy to be with her again until they had been able to
talk alone, but she told herself that she could not have left John