"Does flirting consist of deception?" she asked, looking earnestly at him. "Yes," he answered, "and of the most adroit kind. It's the weapon that all world-wise women use to enslave men, and the more skilled they are at it, the more assured is their success." "Do men ever deceive?" she queried, her fathomless eyes still on him. "Yes, little girl," he answered, looking away and out over the ocean and resolving to be sincere, "men are the same as women in that respect; some do it in self-defence, and others out of selfishness. Then once in a while, one will never do it, except out of kindness. Such men are usually imposed upon." When they reached the brink of the chasm he took her hand. "I am so afraid you will slip in going down," he said, "and if you were hurt, I should never forgive myself." He retained it down the steep path and up the devious way to the cave. When it was reached she seated herself and said, smiling at him, "Now you are here, let me see you give your flowers to the fairy." For answer he gallantly touched them with his lips and handed them to her. "You are the fairy who lives here," he said, "for I shall never think of this spot without seeing you in it." Mona colored a little and then a shade crossed her face. "Isn't that deception?" she said. "You do not mean it." "I mean to say every nice thing I can think of to-day," he answered, "and do all I can to make you enjoy it. A truly happy hour is a rare experience in life, and I want to find one for you." Then, taking his cigar case out and stretching himself on one side of the cave, he added: "I wish we had brought some cushions. I will, the next time we come." "I do not think how hard the rock is," she answered; "when I am playing I forget where I am, even." "Well, forget it quick," he said, "so I can. Only do not play 'Annie Laurie' till the last thing. You brought a mist to my eyes with it the other day. It's a sweet bit, full of tears." And then, not heeding his pleasantries, many of which she did not understand, Mona drew her dearly loved brown fiddle out of its case, and once more that uncanny den in the rocks echoed to its magic. A medley of old-time ballads, jigs, reels, and dance music came forth in succession, while Winn, forgetting his cigar, yielded to her music and watched her lissom body encased in blue flannel, open at the throat, swaying slightly as she played, her winsome face turned from him in profile and eyes closed at times. Once only, when a certain air recalled the past, did he think of the woman who had scorned him, and whose letter was still unanswered. "Do not play any more now," he said finally, when Mona paused, "you must be tired." "I must have tired you of it," she answered bluntly, "and I am glad. I want to hear you talk and tell me about fairies and the great city where you lived, and about that woman who played before people. I wish I could learn to play as you say she did."