“Why, of course not!” she said, just as much amused as he was, and sat down in one of the chairs against the wall. She sat there, and he stood opposite her, leaning against the railing, both of them silently not liking each other. Presently the silence became unbearable. “The spring has come early this year,” observed Miss Selby. Mr. Anderson, the city dweller, knew precious little about what was expected of spring, but he was determined to say something, anything. “Yes,” he agreed. “They were selling violets in the streets yesterday.” Miss Selby looked at him with a sort of horror. Was _that_ his idea of spring—violets being sold on street corners? “But that doesn’t mean anything!” she cried. “They were probably hothouse violets, anyway. You can’t possibly see the real spring unless you go in the woods.” She needn’t think she owned the spring. Every year of his life he had spent several weeks in the country at various hotels. He had seen any number of woods, had walked in them, and admired them, too, with moderation, however. “Yes, I know,” he admitted. “Last June I motored up through Connecticut—” “Oh, but that’s different!” she explained. “Motoring—that’s not the same thing at all! There’s a little wood near here—I go there almost every Sunday—I wish you could see it!” “I’d like to,” he replied, without realizing the step implied. They were both dismayed by what had happened. Miss Selby arose hastily. “Well—good night!” she said, and fled upstairs to her room in a panic. “Heavens!” she thought. “Did he think I wanted him to come with me tomorrow? Oh, dear! How—how awfully awkward! Oh, I do hope it will rain!” Mr. Anderson, left by himself, lit his pipe. “After that,” he mused, “of course I’ll have to ask her to let me go with her tomorrow. That’s only common courtesy.” Very well, he was willing to make the sacrifice. II It did not rain the next day. On the contrary, it was as bright and blithe a day as ever dawned. There was no plausible reason why a person who went into the woods almost every Sunday should not go today. “It would be too rude, just to walk off, if he thinks I meant him to come along,” thought Miss Selby. “But perhaps he won’t say anything more about it.” He did not appear in the dining room while she ate her breakfast. “Probably he’s still asleep,” she thought, with that pardonable pride every one feels at being up before some one else. He was not asleep. On the contrary, he was looking at her that very moment, as she sat down at her precious table, eating the Sunday morning coffee ring. He had breakfasted early on purpose, hoping that by so doing he would avoid her, for the more he meditated upon her behavior, the more sternly did he disapprove of it, and he had come downstairs this morning resolved to be merely polite.