"I do hope you play well," she said. Her hope was comparatively vain; she batted Wayne around the court, drove him wildly from corner to corner, stampeded him with volleys, lured him with lobs, and finally left him reeling dizzily about, while she came around from behind the net, saying, "It's all because you have no tennis shoes. Come; we'll rest under the trees and console ourselves with chess." Under a group of huge silver beeches a stone chess-table was set embedded in the moss; and Iole indolently stretched herself out on one side, chin on hands, while Wayne sorted weather-beaten basalt and marble chess-men which lay in a pile under the tree. She chatted on without the faintest trace of self-consciousness the while he arranged the pieces; then she began to move. He took a long time between each move; but no sooner did he move than, still talking, she extended her hand and shoved her piece into place without a fraction of a second's hesitation. When she had mated him twice, and he was still gazing blankly at the mess into which she had driven his forces, she sat up sideways, gathering her slim ankles into one hand, and cast about her for something to do, eyes wandering over the sunny meadow. "We had horses," she mused; "we rode like demons, bareback, until trouble came." "Trouble?" "Oh, not trouble--poverty. So our horses had to go. What shall we do--you and I?" There was something so subtly sweet, so exquisitely innocent in the coupling of the pronouns that a thrill passed completely through Wayne, and probably came out on the other side. "I know what I'm going to do," he said, drawing a note-book and a pencil from his pocket and beginning to write, holding it so she could see. "Do you want me to look over your shoulder?" she asked. "Please." She did; and it affected his penmanship so that the writing grew wabbly. Still she could read: (_Telegram_) TO SAILING MASTER, YACHT THENDARA, BAR HARBOR: Put boat out of commission. I may be away all summer. WAYNE. "How far is it to the station?" asked Wayne, turning to look into her eyes. "Only five miles," she said. "I'll walk with you if you like. Shall I?" IV [Illustration] "Wealth," observed the poet, waving his heavy white hand, "is a figure of speech, Mr. Wayne. Only by the process of elimination can one arrive at the exquisite simplicity of poverty--care-free poverty. Even a single penny is a burden--the flaw in the marble, the fly in the amber of perfection. Cast it away and enter Eden!" And joining thumb and forefinger, he plucked a figurative copper from the atmosphere, tossed it away, and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief. "But--" began Wayne uneasily. "Try it," smiled the poet, diffusing sweetness; "try it. Dismiss all thoughts of money from your mind." "I do," said Wayne, somewhat relieved. "I thought you meant for me to chuck my securities overboard and eat herbs."