ge gentleman's optics."

"The verses," he explained, "are evidently addressed to the spooney, so
why should you resent them?"

"I don't. . . . I can be spoons, too, for that matter; I mean I could
once."

"But you're past spooning now," he concluded.

"Am I? I rather resent your saying it--your calmly excluding me from
anything I might choose to do," she said. "If I cared--if I chose--if I
really wanted to--"

"You could still spoon? Impossible! At your age? Nonsense!"

"It isn't at all impossible. Wait until there's a moon, and a canoe, and
a nice boy who is young enough to be frightened easily!"

"And I," he retorted, "am too old to be frightened; so there's no moon,
no canoe, no pretty girl, no spooning for me. Is that it, Eileen?"

"Oh, Gladys and Sheila will attend to you, Captain Selwyn."

"Why Gladys Orchil? Why Sheila Minster? And why _not_ Eileen Erroll?"

"Spoon? With _you_!"

"You are quite right," he said, smiling; "it would be poor sport."

There had been no change in his amused eyes, in his voice; yet,
sensitive to the imperceptible, the girl looked up quickly. He laughed
and straightened up; and presently his eyes grew absent and his
sun-burned hand sought his moustache.

"Have you misunderstood me?" she asked in a low voice.

"How, child?"

"I don't know. . . . Shall we walk a little?"

When they came to the stone fish-pond she seated herself for a moment on
a marble bench, then, curiously restless, rose again; and again they
moved forward at hazard, past the spouting fountain, which was a driven
well, out of which a crystal column of water rose, geyser-like, dazzling
in the westering sun rays.

"Nina tells me that this water rises in the Connecticut hills," he said,
"and flows as a subterranean sheet under the Sound, spouting up here on
Long Island when you drive a well."

She looked at the column of flashing water, nodding silent assent.

They moved on, the girl curiously reserved, non-communicative, head
slightly lowered; the man vague-eyed, thoughtful, pacing slowly at her
side. Behind them their long shadows trailed across the brilliant grass.

Traversing the grove which encircled the newly clipped lawn, now
fragrant with sun-crisped grass-tips left in the wake of the mower, he
glanced up at the pretty mermaid mother cuddling her tiny offspring
against her throat. Across her face a bar of pink sunlight fell, making
its contour exquisite.

"Plunkitt tells me that they really