“Not if I think it important?” “Oh, never at all!” “But a tribute! You might take what belongs to you. I owe you a debt.” “Better owe it than pay it in small coin.” “Then I offer a promissory note.” “You mean--you will tell me more about----” Camilla paused and dropped her voice. “Whatever you may ask. It's the kind called payable on demand.” It has ever been noticed, at some point, sooner or later, probably in the springtime, the conversations in Arcadia become singularly light, and small tinklings of wit are thought poetical. Opposite the P. and N. station were the gangs of Hennion's workmen. The paving job was nearly finished. But something was wrong. The men stood idle. Hennion had his back against a telegraph pole, and talked to Kennedy, as Aidee and Camilla came up behind him. “Rip it out again, Kennedy,” he said. “Can't help it.” “'Twill cost the best part of a day,” said the big foreman ruefully. “Can't help it.” Kennedy swore stealthily but solidly, and Hennion laughed. “I'll pay the damages if you'll do the growling. That's all right.” He turned and met Camilla and Aidee, and the three walked toward the Champney house. Camilla asked imperative questions. “What is it, Dick? What have you done?” Hennion glanced at Aidee and thought of their late stormy tilting. “Oh, I was away to-day, and Kennedy saw the chance to make a blunder with his sand layer. He thinks it won't make much difference, if we forget about it. He's an ingenious arguer. But I hate sloppy work.” Aidee said nothing. The two men stopped at the Champney gate. Camilla went up the path with her swift, springy step. They turned back to the gangs of workmen. “You were right about that, the other night,” said Aidee abruptly. “I'm not quite clear how you were right, but you were.” “Right about the whole business?” “No, only about my method. I'm still urging you to go in, but I'm adopting your scruples.” Hennion shook his head thoughtfully. Aidee went on. “Political power is safest in the hands of those who have to make a sacrifice in order to accept it.” Then he stopped with a short laugh. “I'm a coiner of phrases. It's inveterate. Maxims don't interest you. Would it be any argument for your going in if I engaged to stay out?” “Why, hardly. I don't know. I don't make you out.” “Carroll's going to explain me in six paragraphs to-morrow.” “Carroll doesn't amount to anything. Did you know Hicks at all?” implying that he knew what the paragraphs would be. “Never saw him that I know of.” “Well--I don't see where you're concerned.” Hennion went out into the street among his workmen. He wondered what Aidee meant by “adopting your scruples.” Probably Aidee saw the enormity of dragging in Camilla. It was time he did. Hennion did not find himself liking Aidee any better for his candour, or advice, or conscientious scruples, if he had them. He thought his own scruples about Camilla were not things to be copied or “adopted” precisely by anyone else.