She turned with a start, to see whether she had dreamed this too, or whether a voice at her elbow had really hummed it--and was just in time to see the driver gather up the lines of the six horses closer, while he strove hard to banish the guilty color from his face. A stage-driver, who offered her roses with the air of a cavalier of the _ancien régime_, and sang snatches of German music. It made her more thoughtful than ever; and when they reached Spanishtown, and had taken dinner, she had decided on what course to pursue. The driver was on hand to assist her back to her lofty perch, but she said, with perfect _sang-froid_: "I think I should prefer to ride inside for the rest of the way; the sun is too hot outside." Perhaps she had feared to see an expression of wounded feeling on the bronzed face, but it was rather a quizzical look that shot from his eyes as he answered: "No sun after this; fog from here out--depend upon it." Her face relaxed. "I don't know that I want to be enveloped in a fog-cloud, either;" but she placed her foot on the wheel, and, without another word, she was assisted back to her old seat. The ice was broken, and the fog that soon rolled in on them did more to thaw it away between them than the sunshine of the morning had been able to do. After awhile she told him that she was on her way to visit an uncle and aunt, who had taken up their residence at Pescadero, and that she meant to make them many a visit, as she was fond of them, and they petted her to her heart's content. And she liked the country, too. Then he told her of the pebbles to be found on the beach near Pescadero, and of the attractions of the sea-moss, at a point more distant; and he hoped that he might always have the pleasure of carrying her through the country, whenever she came this way. "Uncle shall surely let you know when I am coming back, so that I may come with you," she said; "but what is your name?--so that he can find you out." "Jim!" he replied, grimly, pulling his hat far down over his eyes, apparently indifferent as to the impression his abbreviated appellation might make on her. Then, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice, he asked, "And yours?" "Stella," she answered simply; and they both laughed, and she fastened the roses in her hair before they came to the end of their journey, which had on the whole passed off so pleasantly. So pleasantly that Stella reverted to it when in Aunt Sarah's comfortable sitting-room, where Uncle Herbert was allowed to smoke his after-dinner cigar. "I should like to go back with the same driver; his name is Jim. Do you know him, uncle?" she continued, with the most innocent face, in which a sharper eye than Uncle Herbert's would nevertheless have detected a somewhat heightened color.