How absurd! He had seen pretty girls before, danced with them, flirted with them. There were the imperious belles of Virginia, who bewitched a man's fancy in one evening. There were the fair seductive maids of Philadelphia, and so far he had not been specially impressed with the girls of this town. A crowd were coming this way--he heard the strident laughter and loud voices, so he stepped aside. Dilly was not sitting out in the fragrant air, but trying to explain a lesson to Felix. Neither did she give one thought to the young Englishman. She was glad in her inmost heart that Ned Langdale had been engaged elsewhere. Something in his eyes troubled her. She did not want to make him unhappy. She hated to be cold and distant to her friend, yet when she warmed a little he seemed to take so much for granted that she did not feel inclined to grant. Why couldn't one be satisfied with friendship? Occasionally she heard from Archie. They were eager, ambitious letters and she always read them aloud. But if there could come any warmer interest Archie never would be content with this busy, bustling, working town, and then they would lose her. Every day she grew dearer to the mother. Geoffrey Andsdell decided he did not like the place very well either. He could not be winning money all the time from the garrison, and no business opening had been really thrust upon him, though he felt it was high time he turned his attention to the fact of making an honest living. He had wasted four years since he left England. It would be folly to return, and when that thought crossed his mind he bit his lip and an ugly look settled in his eyes. He had come to the New World to forget all that. Yes, he would go back to Philadelphia. There were genteel opportunities there, and he was not a dullard if he had not been business bred. He was asking a little advice of Mrs. Forbes as they had been sauntering about the hills that were showing bits of autumnal scenery and scattering the fragrance of all ripening things on the air. The jocund song of the birds had settled into a sort of leisurely sweetness, their summer work was done, nest building and caring for the young was over with for the season, and they could review their losses and gains. Somewhere along the stream that wound in and out a great frog boomed hoarsely and the younger ones had lost their fine soprano in trying to emulate him. Insects of all kinds were shrilling and whirring, yet underneath it all there was a curious stillness. Then a human voice broke on their ear singing a merry Irish lilt. "Oh, that's Daffodil Carrick. I could tell her voice from fifty others. It is never loud but it carries so distinctly. Let's see where she is."