t
spring beauty."

"I am glad you are so pleased with yourself. I trust Strong will be
equally appreciative."

"I hope so when I have gone to so much trouble for him," she tossed back
over her shoulder, in punishment.

As Mr. Strong stepped off the train and faced her, it would be hard to
say whether admiration or astonishment constituted the greater part of
his expression.

"Mrs. Jocelyn, why this is too kind of you!"

"Not at all. City people are so unused to our devious country ways that
I was afraid you would get lost."

Admiration was certainly on top now.

"If you don't mind, we will walk. It isn't far."

"The farther the better," he replied gallantly.

They set forth, down the shady village street, where the trees almost
met overhead. Strong drew in deep breaths of the fresh morning air. His
eyes kept returning to the little French figure at his side, so
metropolitan, and yet so much the dominant note in any setting in which
he had seen her. She chattered on, about the town, the university, and
the sights.

"I refrain from pointing out the town hall, and the Carnegie Library,"
she said.

"I am grateful," he bowed.

"Are you married?" she darted at him, out of their impersonality.

"No, alas!"

"That helps a little."

His surprise was evident.

"I'm afraid I've got you into rather a box."

"I don't mind, if you will play Pandora."

"Thanks. You remember that I told you that my--my career was to be a
secret from the 'Heavenly Twins'?"

"Yes."

"I suppose my career is about over, but I don't want them to know about
it."

"Excuse me. What's that--about your career being over?"

"That's why you've come, isn't it? You didn't like the last story?"

He stared at her, and then burst out laughing.

"You thought I would come way out here from New York to tell you I
didn't like it?"

"I have a high opinion of your kindness," she nodded.

"You nice little girl!" he added impetuously. "I came partly because I
wanted to talk to you again, partly because I wanted to see Jarvis and
the Professor."

She smiled and nodded encouragement.

"Then, too, we've had such a raft of letters about the 'Francesca' story
that I want to talk to you about making a novel of it, to run serially,
instead of the short stories we arranged for."

"A novel? You want me to write a novel?"

"We do."

"But I wonder if I could?" she said, in an awed voice.

"Of course you could. The second story was ripping."