The young man wished he dared go behind that “almost--perhaps” and find out what she meant, but concluded it were better to bring back the smile and help her to forget for a little while at least. Down by the brook, they paused to rest, under a weeping willow, whose green-tinged plumes were dabbling in the brook. Gordon arranged the suit-cases for her to sit upon, then climbed down to the brookside and gathered a great bunch of forget-me-nots, blue as her eyes, and brought them to her. She looked at them in wonder, to think they grew out here, wild, untended. She had never seen them before, except in pots in the florist’s windows. She touched them delicately with the tips of her fingers, as if they were too ethereal for earth; then fastened them in the breast of her gown. “They exactly match your eyes!” he exclaimed involuntarily, and then wished he had not spoken, for she flushed and paled under his glance, until he felt he had been unduly bold. He wondered why he had said that. He never had been in the habit of saying pretty things to girls, but this girl somehow called it from him. It was genuine. He sat a moment abashed, not knowing what to say next, as if he were a shy boy, and she did not help him, for her eyelashes drooped in a long becoming sweep over her cheeks, and she seemed for the moment not to be able to carry off the situation. He was not sure if she were displeased or not. Her heart had thrilled strangely as he spoke, and she was vexed with herself that it should be so. A man who had bullied and threatened her for three terrible months and forced her to marry him had no right to a thrill of her heart nor a look from her eyes, be he ever so kind for the moment. He certainly was nice and pleasant when he chose to be; she must watch herself, for never, never, must she yield weakly to his smooth overtures. Well did she know him. He had some reason for all this pleasantness. It would surely be revealed soon. She stiffened her lips and tried to look away from him to the purply-green hills; but the echo of his words came upon her again, and again her heart thrilled at them. What if--oh what if he were all right, and she might accept the admiration in his voice? And yet how could that be possible? The sweet color came into her cheeks again, and the tears flew quickly to her eyes, till they looked all sky and dew, and she dared not turn back to him. The silence remained unbroken, until a lark in the willow copse behind them burst forth into song and broke the spell that was upon them. “Are you offended at what I said?” he asked earnestly. “I am sorry if you did not like it. The words said themselves without my stopping to think whether you might not like it. Will you forgive me?” “Oh,” she said, lifting her forget-me-not eyes to his, “I am not offended. There is nothing to forgive. It was--beautiful!”