"There!" she said to Philip. "Didn't I do that nicely? Jemmy herself couldn't have been more young lady-like. Do tell me how you happened to know Mr. Farwell, and why you haven't introduced him to us? Didn't you know we were wild to see him?" Benoix did not answer. His silence gave an effect of displeasure. She put her horse closer to his, and laid a coaxing hand on his arm. "Why, Reverend Flip, I believe you are cross with me! What about--not because I came to Henderson's rescue, surely? I couldn't let those men get poor Mag's father! She said they would have killed him." Philip murmured, "Not such a bad thing if they did." "Philip! What did you say?" "I said," he replied mendaciously, "that you have behaved foolishly and riskily, and with no dignity whatever. 'Young lady-like' indeed! Riding about the country bareback, with your hair down, and your skirts above your knees! What do you suppose those strange men thought of that?" "I think they liked it," she said candidly. "They looked as if they did. You see neither of them is my spiritual pastor and master, so they don't have to be shocked by me." She gave him a demure, sidelong glance. "I am not shocked either, you know that. Only--" said Philip. "Only you wish I were more like Jemmy," she pouted. "Stiff, and proper, and prim--" "I don't want you to be like any one but yourself," he said warmly, and paused. Suddenly he realized the change that was coming over this little playmate of his, half child and half woman as she was. The woman was beginning to predominate. He remembered her with Mag's baby, her almost passionate tenderness, her precocious knowledge of the child's needs. He remembered her manner with the two men they had just left, coquettish, innocently provocative. It had startled him. Evidently, Jacqueline was becoming aware of certain powers in herself which she was not averse to practising upon whatever victims came to hand; even upon her spiritual pastor and master. "Jacqueline," he said gravely, "you are growing up. You must remember it. Why did you talk to a strange man like that?" She chuckled. "Like what?" "You know what I mean." "Well--because I wanted him to come and see us. He's a neighbor, and we ought to be friends with him. And then--I'll tell you this, Philip, because you're my chum--I wanted that author man to notice me! He treated me like a silly child the last time. He won't again." "I see,"--Philip smiled in spite of himself. "Nevertheless, you can't be too careful and dignified with strange men, dear." She recognized the change in his voice; a change that usually came soon or late when people endeavored to scold Jacqueline. "Now you're nice again," she said with satisfaction, slipping her hand into his. "You don't disapprove of me, anyway, half as much as you think you do. You might kiss me, just to show it." He resisted gently. "No, my dear, you're getting too old for that." "Too old for what?" she cried out.