It was June-time in the beautiful hill country along the Eno. Down the long road that sloped to the bridge from the west two horses took their leisurely way, while their riders talked or were silent at will. Below them, in the curve of the river, lay the town in a green summer dream; the roadside was lined with nodding blossom heads, and the thickets were a-rustle now and then with the subdued whir of wings, for the song season of their feathered tenants was done, and sparrow and wren and bluebird were busy with family cares. "Joscelyn, you are not listening to a word I am saying," complained Mary Singleton, petulantly, after repeating a question a second time and getting no answer. "I beg your pardon, Mary; I believe you are right." "Of what were you thinking so intently?" "I was not thinking. It is too delicious this afternoon to do anything, even think. I am just resting my mind." "Well, I find you very dull under such a process." "'A friend should bear a friend's infirmity,'" quoted Joscelyn. "Dulness is not an infirmity; it is a crime." "Then methinks the world must be full of criminals." "And those who are so intentionally and voluntarily should be punished like other wrong-doers." Joscelyn laughed. "Well, pass sentence upon me, most wise judge, if you think I was not born that way and that the sin is intentional. Am I to hang for it, or will you be merciful and make it a prison offence?" "Oh, you'll get the hanging soon enough if you go on wearing that red bodice and stringing pictures of King George on your balcony!" "So mother says. And hanging is not a becoming way to die; one has no opportunity to say that 'prunes, prisms, and preserves' sentence that leaves the mouth in such a charming pucker. Well, since my lips are to be awry, I trust they will give me time to put on my new silver-buckled shoes. It would be a comfort to know that at least my feet looked their best." "Joscelyn! You are perfectly horrid." "You mean I would be without the 'prunes and prisms' expression." Mary struck her horse and rode forward a few yards, but presently fell back again beside her companion. "What I asked you just now related to Eustace. Do you think--" "I said I was not thinking." "Well, begin at once. Is there any danger that Eustace will really try to marry Betty Clevering?" "Danger is a wrong word, Mary. If Eustace is ever so fortunate as to win Betty, he should spend the rest of his life in thanksgiving. She is as true as steel, and better tempered than either of us." "I am not disparaging Betty, and I have often wished our parents were not at outs, so that she and I might be better friends; we only meet at your house or places of entertainment. But, Joscelyn, you know--you must know what we all have hoped for you and Eustace." Joscelyn turned her eyes fully and calmly upon her companion. "Yes, I know. I should have been even duller than you pronounced me just now not to see through your plan. Diplomacy is not your _forte_."