Alwynne dismounted hastily again, though she kept a hand on the bridle. "Roger--this is beyond a joke. What have you been saying to Elsbeth?" "Why, my dear," he said gently, "very much what I told you yesterday afternoon." Alwynne grew scarlet. "Roger--we were in fun yesterday. We were joking. I forget what it was all about. There was nothing to tell Elsbeth." "Yes, you do forget," he said. "Yes. I have. I want to," she answered unsteadily. "You know you weren't serious. Why, you were laughing at me--you know you were." "Do you never laugh when you're serious?" "Never!" said Alwynne earnestly. "Well, then, we're like the Cheshire cat and dog. But I laugh when I'm most amazingly serious sometimes, Alwynne. I was yesterday, and I think you knew it." "I didn't," said Alwynne stubbornly. "We only just talked nonsense. All about Holt Meadows--you know it was nonsense." "I didn't," said Roger, with equal stubbornness. "You did," said Alwynne. "I didn't," said Roger. "Oh, of course, if you're going to lose your temper----" cried Alwynne. Roger shrugged his shoulders. It was deadlock. Alwynne looked at him. He was grave enough now. "I didn't mean to be rude," she said unhappily. "Didn't you?" He was all polite surprise. "I expect I was----" she ventured. "It all depends on what one's used to," he returned philosophically. "Yes, I know I was. But you are so horrid to-day." "Sorry," said Roger stiffly. She turned to him impulsively. "Roger--I've missed you awfully since I came back. It was quite absurd, when I'd got Clare all to myself. But I did. It was so nice seeing you. I was simply miserable yesterday, and then you turned up and were perfectly sweet. It cheered me up. And then you turned horrid. All the evening you were horrid. And now you're horrid, quarrelling and arguing. Why can't you be nice to me always?" She was very close to him. Her hand was on the arm of his chair. Her skirts swished against his knee. "Alwynne, you're too illogical for a school-marm. Haven't you been bullying me since I came on account of yesterday?" "Roger," she said unsteadily, "don't tease me. I do so want to be friends with you." He put his arms about her as she stood beside him, and looked up at her, with laughing, tender eyes. "And I do so want to marry you. Why not, Miss Le Creevy? _Let's be a comfortable couple._" She struggled away from him. "No, Roger! No. No. I don't want to get married. Why aren't you content to be friends, as we were at Dene? Friendship's a lot. If I can see you very often, and write to you twice a week, and tell you everything--I should be awfully content. Wouldn't you?" He looked at her with amusement. "Your idea of friendship is pretty comprehensive. What's wrong with getting married, Alwynne?" "Oh--I don't know." "What's wrong with getting married, Alwynne?" "How can I get married," cried Alwynne, in sudden exasperation, "when I'm not in love with you? You're silly sometimes, Roger."