“But――Mr. Parmley, please let go,” she begged. “You don’t mean to say that I still have it?” He tried to seem at ease and to speak carelessly, but his heart was pounding as though striving to do the Anvil Chorus all by itself, and his voice wasn’t quite steady. “I do,” she answered coldly, biting her lip a little. A disk of red burned in each cheek. Her eyes were fixed on his imprisoning hand. “Besides, you are hurting me,” she added, falling back upon the fib which is a woman’s last resource in such a quandary. But he shook his head soberly. “Pardon me, but that’s impossible. You will observe that my hand is quite loose about yours. Accuse me of unlawful detention, if you wish, but not of cruelty.” “But――but it is my hand,” she protested faintly. “Well, that is nothing to boast of,” he replied smiling somewhat tremulously. She had kept her eyes from him all along and he was determined to see them before he gave up. “Look at mine; it’s twice as big!” The brown lashes fluttered for an instant and Ethan nerved himself for the shock of looking into those violet eyes. He didn’t know what was going to happen, he assured himself in a sudden delicious panic, and he didn’t much care. Probably he would do something awfully rude, something that would frighten and anger her, something for which she would never forgive him! Perhaps the sudden trembling of his hand about hers warned her, for the lashes lay still again. A moment of silence followed, during which Ethan’s heart threatened to choke him. Then all at once the little warm hand ceased tugging and lay limp and inert in his. She turned her head and looked toward the trees and the shade. “If we are going to hold hands for any length of time,” she remarked coolly, “perhaps we had better sit down and be comfortable.” Ethan released her instantly, while a wave of burning color swept across his face. He felt terribly small and ridiculous! He realized that he had taken it for granted that she had been experiencing emotions similar to his own, and instead of that she had been only bored and――and exasperated! He followed her laggingly up the slope, savagely calling himself names and meditating a retirement in such order as was still possible. She seated herself comfortably on the grass with her back against the smooth round trunk of a maple and patted down her skirts. Then she glanced up at him calmly. “Do you realize,” she asked, “that you have made me late for church?” He was grateful for that ready change of subject and piqued that she should be so little disconcerted. His own heart was still dancing. “I am an humble instrument of Providence,” he answered as lightly as he could, dropping to the ground at a respectful distance from the tips of her small shoes. [Illustration] “That sounds a little sacrilegious,” she said. “Besides――_humble_?” “Humble, yes,” he answered. “I can’t think of a better word, unless it is ‘abashed.’”