"I don't know. I--I seemed to feel it in the air," she said, vaguely, and in a little troubled tone. "You _are_ vexed about it--_aren't_ you?" and she turned on him fully for the first time the full gaze of those large wondrous black eyes, before whose searching gaze even the most accomplished Ananias might have hesitated to answer falsely. "I should be discourteous if I answered in the affirmative," he said. "You needn't mind that--not the least bit in the world," she said, eagerly. "You see, I didn't know when I came that _you_ were here. I thought there was only an old lady--your mamma. If you don't want me here, I must go back to---- I can go away," she said, growing strangely pale as the words left her lips. "Perhaps you would have been better pleased if I had not been here," he said, curiously, as they walked on down a wide, graveled path, leading to the river. "Perhaps so--I don't like men very much," she answered, with innocent frankness. "Ridiculous affectation, when she is dead in love with a fortune-hunting scoundrel!" thought he, gnawing his mustache vexedly. Somehow since Beatrix Gordon had come to Eden he chose to take the most contemptible view of her lover. "Perhaps you would like me to go away?" he said, with fine sarcasm. They had come to the pretty rustic fence that bordered the lawn. Below it was the public road, beyond this the wide, beautiful river, with the white sails coming and going on its glassy breast. Beatrix sunk down on a convenient seat with a crimson, dismayed face. Some of the flowers fell from her overskirt in the surprise with which she regarded him. "Oh, what have I said? I didn't mean _that_--never!" she cried, as he stooped to restore her treasures. "I wouldn't have you go away from your beautiful home for me, Mr. Le Roy." "Very well, I will stay. I dare say Eden is wide enough for us to keep out of each other's way," he answered, as he sat down by her side. "Yes, surely," she cried; "and if--if you will only tell me how, I won't bother you--I won't come in your way at all." "Very well," grimly. "We will both stay at Eden and compromise that way. We will try not to intrude upon each other. My favorite haunt is the library. If you will keep out of there, you may have the right of way in the rest of the house without materially disturbing me." Palpable dismay lowered over the lifted face that looked so lovely in the golden sunlight. "The library? And the books are all there--aren't they?" she asked, with a note of keen yearning in her voice. "Yes; do you like books?" he asked, curiously. "I love them," she answered, discarding the word "like" as she had done about the flowers. There was no half way strain in her nature. Fervent, ardent, impetuous, the word was too cold for her. Those things that pleased her she _loved_. "Then, perhaps I will lend you some books sometimes, if you will only keep out of my sanctum," he said, coolly. "Do you promise?"