Mrs. Phillips came along, shepherding her little flock for the return. "But before we _do_ turn back," she adjured them, "just look at those two lovely spreading pines standing together alone on that far hill." The small group gazed obediently--though to many of them the prospect was a familiar one. Yes, there stood two pines, one just a little taller than the other, and just a little inclined across the other's top. "A girl out here in August called them Paolo and Francesca. Do you think," she asked Cope, "that those names are suitable?" "Oh, I don't know," he replied, looking at the trees thoughtfully. "They seem rather--static; and Dante's lovers, if I recollect, had considerable drive. They were '_al vento_'--on the wind--weren't they? It might be less violent and more modern to call your trees Pelleas and Melisande, or--" "That's it. That's the very thing!" said Medora Phillips heartily. "Pelleas and Melisande, of course. That girl had a very ordinary mind." "I've felt plenty of wind on the dunes, more than once," interjected Hortense. "Or Darby and Joan," Cope continued. "Not that I'm defending that poor creature, whoever she was. They seem to be a pretty staid, steady-going couple." "Don't," said Medora. "Too many ideas are worse than too few. They confuse one." And Amy Leffingwell, who had seemed willing to admire him, now looked at him with an air of plaintive protest. "'Darby and Joan'!" muttered Hortense into a sumach bush. "You might as well call them Jack and Jill!" "They're Pelleas and Melisande," declared Mrs. Phillips, in a tone of finality. "Thank you so much," she said, with a smile that reinstated Cope after a threatened lapse from favor. 11 _COPE ENLIVENS THE COUNTRY_ As they drew near the house they heard the tones of a gramophone. This instrument rested flatly on a small table and took the place of a piano, which would have been a fearful thing to transport from town and back. It was jigging away merrily enough, with a quick, regular rhythm which suggested a dance-tune; and when the party re-entered the big room it was seen that a large corner of the center rug was still turned back. Impossible that anybody could have been dancing on the Sabbath; surely everybody understood that the evangelical principles of Churchton were projected on these occasions to the dunes. Besides, the only women left behind had been two in their forties; the men in their company were even older. Medora Phillips looked at Randolph, but he was staring inexpressively at the opposite wall. She found herself wondering if there were times when the mere absence of the young served automatically to make the middle-aged more youthful. "Well, we've had a most lovely walk," she declared. She crossed to the far corner of the room, contriving to turn down the rug as she went, and opened up a new reservoir of records. She laid them on the table rather emphatically, as if to say, "_These_ are suited to the day."