John Ames stared, as well he might. Either she meant what she said or she did not. In the first event, she had a higher opinion of him than ever he had dreamed; in the second, the remark was silly to the last degree; and silliness was a fault, any trace of which he had not as yet discovered in Nidia Commerell. "You cannot really mean that," he said. "If so, you must be under an entire misconception as to my position. I am only one of several. We each of us try to do our best, but none of us can do anything very great." Listening intently, Nidia was saying to herself, "How true he rings! Note. The swagger and egotism of the up-to-date Apollo is conspicuously absent here." Then, aloud-- "No; I was not chaffing. I believe you can do a great deal. Remember, we have been very much together of late, and I rather pride myself upon a faculty for character reading." The delicate insinuation of flattery in her tone constituted the last straw. John Ames felt his resolution growing very weak. Passionate words of adoration rose to his lips--when-- A screech and chatter of child voices and scurrying feet, right behind the rock under whose shadow the two were resting, then the sound of scrambling, and their resting-place was theirs no more. A round half-dozen uproarious infants were spreading themselves over the rock slabs around, their shrill shrieks of glee hardly arrested, as with a start they discovered the presence of others upon their new playground. And that they were there to stay they speedily made known by dint of yelling response to the calls of the parent-bird, whose own voice drew nearer around the rock. The spell was broken. At that moment John Ames would have given anything to have seen the rocks below swept by a sudden tidal wave. The spell was broken. The moment had come and gone, and he was aware, as by an intuitive flash, that it would not come again. Nidia rose. Did she welcome the fortuitous relief or not? he wondered, as he glanced at her keenly. "Let us stroll quietly back," she said. "We shall get no more peace with that nursery romping round us. Besides, it's time we thought of beginning the return ride. "What an ideal day it has been!" resumed Nidia, when the ground became even enough to carry on conversation with any degree of facility. "Hasn't it?" "M'yes. Very `ideal,' in that like other ideals it doesn't last. An ideal is like a wine-glass, sooner or later destined to be shattered." "That's quite true. I wonder are there any exceptions to the rule?" "Safely, no. People set one up for themselves and adore it; then crash--bang! some fine day they knock it down, and it shatters into smithereens. Then there is a pedestal empty--a pedestal to let." "And up goes another image, with like result," laughed the girl.