Under the afternoon sun the woods that day were at their best, and presently May spoke of the colors which spread down the gentle slopes of the low hills not far away. "Isn't it just too lovely for anything!" she said. "Just look at that hill over there. It is perfectly lovely." Jack glanced at the hill, and then looked at her teasingly. "That's right," he remarked. "Of course spoony people ought to talk about spring, and how perfectly lovely everything is." "I didn't say that because we're engaged," returned May, rather explosively. "I really meant it." "Of course you did. That shows that you are in the proper frame of mind. Now I'm not. I don't care a rap to talk about the whole holy show. It's pretty, of course; but I'm not going in for doing the sentimental that way." She looked up with mingled indignation and entreaty. "Now you are going to be horrid again," she protested. "Why can't you stop talking about our being engaged?" "Stop talking about it? Why, good heavens, we're expected to talk about it. I never was engaged before, but I hope I know my business." "But I don't want to talk about it!" "Oh, you really do, only you are shy about owning it." "But I won't talk about it!" "Oh, yes, you will, my dear; for if I say things you can't help answering 'em." "I won't say another word!" "I'll bet you a pair of gloves that the next thing I say about our being engaged you'll not only answer, but you'll answer in a hurry." "I'll take your bet!" cried May with animation. "I won't answer a word." Jack gave a wicked chuckle, and flicked his horses into a brisk run. In a moment or two he drew them down to an easy trot, and turned to May with a matter-of-fact air. "Of course now we have been engaged a week," he said, "I am at liberty to read that letter you wrote to Christopher Calumus?" "Read it!" she cried. "Oh, I had forgotten that you kept it! Oh, you mustn't read it! I wouldn't have you read it for the world." "Would you have me read it for a pair of gloves?" inquired Jack wickedly. "You've lost your bet." "I don't care anything about my bet," she retorted, with an earnestness so great as to suggest that tears were not so far behind. "I want that letter." "I'm sorry you can't have it," was his reply; "but the truth is, I haven't got it." "Haven't got it? What have you done with it?" "Delivered it to the one it was addressed to,--Christopher Calumus." "Delivered it? Do you mean you gave it to Mr. Fairfield?" "Just that. You wrote it to him, didn't you?" Poor May was now so pale and miserable that a woman would have taken her in her arms to be kissed and comforted, but Jack, the unfeeling wretch, continued his teasing. "I didn't want you to think I was a tyrant," he went on. "Of course I'm willing you should write to anybody that you think best." "But--but I wrote that letter to Mr. Fairfield before I knew who he was!" gasped May.