His dear little “Gamin” resumed her contemplation of the whirling gulls, her eyes averted from him. “Oh,” she replied, lightly, “I didn’t feel like riding to-day. Besides, these mushrooms needed cutting.” Basil laughed. “A fine excuse!” he declared. “And as to your not feeling like riding, you who, so to speak, have been born on horseback--a little Centauress!” He bent sideways to see her face, but she petulantly left a mere profile for his inspection. “Oh, there’s an eagle!” she exclaimed, pointing to a distant crag, where a solitary bird of great size had just alighted. “An eagle! Yes, I think it must be an eagle,” he amiably corroborated, without troubling to look in that direction. “Let him be; he is well enough there. Can’t you be serious a moment, ‘Gamin’? I want to speak to you.” His face was grave now, and the tone of his voice made her veer round with a sudden anxiety. “Anything wrong?” she asked. “No, of course not ... I only wish to ... ask your advice about a personal matter. You are a very wise little person, sometimes, you know.” “Am I? It’s the first time I hear of it!” she exclaimed. “It sounds very nice!” “I’m glad it does, ‘Gamin,’ because it’s the plain truth. And I am sorely in need of wisdom just now, having apparently none left of my own.” Marguerite laughed, and a quick blush followed the laugh. “Set forth the case for judgment,” she said, reaching to gather a dewy _mousseron_ and tossing it negligently into the basket; but he suddenly caught her hand and held it tightly in his. “Look here!” he pleaded. “I cannot speak if you don’t keep quiet. What I have to say is not so awfully easy.” “It is serious, then?” she questioned, hesitatingly, her fingers remaining his willing prisoners. “Very serious.” The “Gamin” slowly shifted her head, and her luminous eyes met his frankly. “Speak then,” she said in an odd voice, which seemed all at once a little strangled. “Well!” Basil began. “Well--now supposing you were asked ... would you ... would a young girl like you find me too old to--to marry?” Marguerite started and drew her hand firmly away. There was a silence during which the clamor of the gulls became enervatingly loud. A hurtling squadron of noisy birds swept over Marguerite’s and Basil’s heads, settled in disorder on the grass ten yards farther on, and instantly ceased shrieking. “Well?” Basil, who had also fallen into a bird-study, resumed with an effort. “Well, I told you so before. You are not so very old.” There was a pitiful little attempt at humor and lightness in the words. “I ... you see ... I was teasing you that day.... I was much younger then.” “Much younger,” he expostulated, “four weeks ago!” “Four weeks--is that all?” she wondered.