They tramped up the hill, averting their heads occasionally as truant gusts of wind whirled snow-sprays in their eyes, chatting confidentially on less intimate subjects. "Let's go softly and peek in," she said, returning into her mischievous self as the great gabled house afire with lights loomed before them. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, peeping about a protecting tree at the group in the drawing-room. Mr. Drake was reading under the lamp, Fred and Gladys ensconced in the bay window, while Doris at the phonograph had resorted to Caruso. "Heavens, what an orgy!-- Sh-h. Hurry now." A second time they went plunging into the night, close together, more sober, the silence cut only by the hissing rush and an occasional warning from Drina, as each obstacle sprang past. But her voice was no longer hilarious with the glee of a child; it was attuned to the hush and slumber of the countryside. "I hate the city!" she said rebelliously when again they had come to a stop. "I hate the life they want me to lead." All at once a quick resentment came to him, at the thought that she should change and be turned into worldly ways. "I'm afraid you're not made for a social career, Patsie," he said slowly. "I would hate to think of your being different." "You can't say what you want, or do what you want, or let people know what you feel," she said in an outburst. "Just let them try to marry me off to any old duke or count and see what'll happen!" "Why, no one wants to marry you off yet, Patsie," he said in dismay. "I'm not so sure." She was silent a moment. "Do you think it's awful to hate your family--not Dad, but all the rest--to want to run away, and be yourself--be natural? Well, that's just the way I feel!" "Is that the way you feel?" he said slowly. She nodded, looking away. "I want to be real, Bojo." She shuddered. "I know Dolly's unhappy--there was some one she did care for-- I know. It must be terrible to marry like that--terrible! It would kill me--oh, I know it!" They were silent; come to that moment where secret carriers are near, she still a little shy, he afraid of himself. "We must go back now," he said after a long pause. "We must, Drina." "Oh, must we!" "Yes." "Will you come out to-morrow night?" "I don't know," he said confusedly. He held out his hand and raised her to her feet. "Come." "I don't want to go back," she said, yielding reluctantly. She threw out her arms, drawing a long breath, her head flung back in the path of the moonbeams with the unconscious instinct of the young girl for enchanting the male. "You don't want to go either. Now do you?" He made no reply, fidgeting with the rope. "Now be nice and say you don't!" "No, I don't," he said abruptly. "Drina?" "Drina." She took his arm, laughing a low, pleased laugh, quite unconscious of all the havoc she was causing, never analyzing the moods of the night and the soul which were stealing over her too in an uncomprehended happiness.