He turned with a look of comic dismay and deprecation to his friend, who stood laughing on the steps. Ida, also, could not resist her inclination to catch a glimpse of the artist's chagrin and disappointment, but she was provoked beyond measure to find him acting as if Stanton were the victim rather than himself. As the sweep of the road again brought them in view of the piazza, this impression was confirmed by seeing Van Berg stroll carelessly away, complacently puffing his cigar as if he had already dismissed her from his mind. "Really," grumbled Stanton, "I never had beauty and happiness thrust upon me so unexpectedly before." "Very well then," retorted Ida; "stop your horses and thrust me out into the road. I'd rather go back, even if I have to walk." "Oh, no! there is to be no going back for two hours or more. I once cured a horse of running away by making him run long after he wanted to stop." "You seem to be learning your friend's hateful manners." "I asked you this morning if you would take a drive, and you declined." "I changed my mind." "Very abruptly, indeed, it seemed. Since you took so much touble to annoy my friend, it's a pity you failed." "I don't believe I failed. He's probably as cross as you are about it, only he can keep it to himself." "Dove-like creatiah! thanks. Will you please drive while I light a cigar?" "I don't like any one to smoke as near me as you are." "If your theory in regard to Van Berg is correct, none of us will enjoy what we like this afternoon. Of course I never smoke without a lady's permission, but unless quieted by a cigar, I am a very reckless driver," and he enforced his words by a sharp crack of the whip, which sent the horses off like the wind. "Oh, stop them; smoke; do anything hateful you wish, so you don't break my neck. I will never ride with you again, and I wish I had never come to this horrid place; and if your sneering painter does not leave soon, I will." "I'm afraid Van would survive, and you only suffer from your spite. But come, since you have so sweetly permitted me to smoke, I'll make your penance as light as possible, and then we will consider matters even between us," and away they bowled up breezy hills and down into shady valleys, Stanton stolidly smoking, and Ida nursing her petty wrath. Two flitting ghosts hastening to escape from the light of day, could not have seen less, or have felt less sympathy with the warm beautiful scenes through which they were passing. There is no insulation so perfect as that of small, selfish natures preoccupied with a pique.