"It was nothing. I had been reading a book there by myself. It was the kind of story that makes you feel like you was the woman it tells about. Then Mr. Gaston came in, and stood looking at me from the doorway; he seemed like the man in the book too. We looked at each other, and--and I was frightened and I guess he was--for I was grown up all of a sudden. Jude"--the girl was appealing to the familiar in him, the comradeship that would stand with her and for her--"he took me in his arms and--and--kissed me. Then he begged my pardon--and he pushed me away; then he led me to the door and said he--he didn't understand, but I--I mustn't come again to the shack alone, but to meet him in the Long Meadow to-day." "Curse 'im," muttered Jude; "curse 'im." But the move was a wrong one. Joyce rose to her own defence and Gaston's. "If you feel that way," she cried, "you can take yourself off." "I--I don't feel that way," Jude returned illogically and meekly; "go on." "He's a good man, Jude Lauzoon; better than any one here in St. Ange; and he isn't our kind--not mine, yours, or any one else's around here. He just made me feel ashamed of myself out in the Meadow to-day. I felt as if I had been bold and--and all wrong, but he wouldn't let me feel that way. He acted like I was a little girl to him again--only different; and--I'm going to tell you something." The pink flush dyed even the white throat now. "He said he wished I would get married--it was for the best. That's the way he wanted me for himself!" Joyce laughed with a bitterness that changed suddenly as she recalled the subtle power she had felt over Gaston even while he was forcing her out of his life. "He asked me about Jock Filmer." "Jock Filmer?" Jude's jaw dropped. Was all St. Ange hurtling around Joyce? "Jock Filmer--why--why--" Words failed him and he laughed noisily. "Oh, I don't know," Joyce tossed her head. "You seem to think nobody would want me--I guess--they would--if I wanted them!" The girl was worn out; racked by the emotions that were reflected from the new attitude of others toward her. And now Jude came around the table again. This time he walked steadily, and he was quite himself. The best self he had ever yet been. "I want you Joyce--God knows I do." "He said you did." "Who?" "He--Mr. Gaston." "He--said that? Then why in thunder did--he kiss you?" That rock Jude dashed against at every turn. "He didn't until--until I told him--I liked you." Poor Joyce! She was never to tell any one that that admission had been wrung from her in order to make Gaston think he himself had not been deeply in her thoughts. It had been a difficult fencing match that afternoon.