“What is it?” Margaret asked. “Did you remember something?” “No, it's nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all. But, by the way, it seems a pity for you to be missing the fine weather. I wonder if I could persuade you to take a little walk?” Margaret, somewhat to the surprise of both the gentlemen present, looked uncertain. “I don't know,” she said. Mr. Blakely saw that she missed his point. “One can talk better in the open, don't you think?” he urged, with a significant glance toward Penrod. Margaret also glanced keenly at Penrod. “Well, perhaps.” And then, “I'll get my hat,” she said. Penrod was on his feet before she left the room. He stretched himself. “I'll get mine, too,” he said. But he carefully went to find it in a direction different from that taken by his sister, and he joined her and her escort not till they were at the front door, whither Mr. Blakely--with a last flickering of hope had urged a flight in haste. “I been thinkin' of takin' a walk, all afternoon,” said Penrod pompously. “Don't matter to me which way we go.” The exquisite oval of Mr. Claude Blakely's face merged into outlines more rugged than usual; the conformation of his jaw became perceptible, and it could be seen that he had conceived an idea which was crystallizing into a determination. “I believe it happens that this is our first walk together,” he said to Margaret, as they reached the pavement, “but, from the kind of tennis you play, I judge that you could go a pretty good gait. Do you like walking fast?” She nodded. “For exercise.” “Shall we try it then?” “You set the pace,” said Margaret. “I think I can keep up.” He took her at her word, and the amazing briskness of their start seemed a little sinister to Penrod, though he was convinced that he could do anything that Margaret could do, and also that neither she nor her comely friend could sustain such a speed for long. On the contrary, they actually increased it with each fleeting block they covered. “Here!” he panted, when they had thus put something more than a half-mile behind them. “There isn't anybody has to have a doctor, I guess! What's the use our walkin' so fast?” In truth, Penrod was not walking, for his shorter legs permitted no actual walking at such a speed; his gait was a half-trot. “Oh, WE'RE out for a WALK!” Mr. Blakely returned, a note of gayety beginning to sound in his voice. “Marg--ah--Miss Schofield, keep your head up and breathe through your nose. That's it! You'll find I was right in suggesting this. It's going to turn out gloriously! Now, let's make it a little faster.” Margaret murmured inarticulately, for she would not waste her breath in a more coherent reply. Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes were brimming with the wind, but when she looked at Penrod, they were brimming with something more. Gurgling sounds came from her.