Rodney laughed and tucked Cis’s hand into his arm. He had been weighing in his mind the overwhelming attraction which Cis possessed for him, against the great advantages which a marriage with Gertrude Davenport included: Wealth, social position, solid business connections, through her father; not least a wife so handsome that wherever he appeared with her all the other men would turn to look at her, envying him. But now that Gertrude, in all her splendor of face and form and raiment had suddenly appeared beside Cis, Cis’s irregular, winsome face, her merry kindliness, her clear-eyed purity of heart, mind and purpose so overtopped all Gertrude’s advantages, that he knew at once that there could be no more debate in his mind as to which girl he wanted to marry. Debate! Why, what was gold beside Cicely’s copper hair? What social position beside such a comrade? What regular beauty beside Cis’s charm? As to money, he could earn all that he needed. Rodney knew that his mind was made up for him by the gravity weight of Cicely Adair, drawing him; to do him justice he was suddenly glowing with an unworldly and genuine love for the girl, resolved to win her with such desire that there was no question of sacrifice for that end. “Miss Davenport doesn’t like red hair, perhaps?” hinted Cis demurely. “Perhaps not, Holly. Perhaps she likes to do her own liking, solo. But if you ask me, I don’t think it matters to the value of one of those red hairs, what Miss Davenport doesn’t like, nor--which is far more important--what she does like,” Rodney said. Cis raised her eyebrows; she had not missed symptoms, and she was accurate in their diagnosis. “It’s a world of changes, Rory O’Moore,” she said. “A wise girl accepts them, and, if she’s still wiser, she looks for the next change.” “You young sinner! Do you mean--” “Sinners aren’t prophets, Rod; never mind what I mean,” Cis interrupted him. Rodney pressed her hand in the crook of his elbow; they both laughed and went on their way rejoicing, Rodney exuberantly light-hearted, as if he had just fallen into a fortune, or had escaped a threatening danger. Arrived at their ultimate destination, after a pleasant row up the river, Rodney inducted Cicely to the pretty glade of which he had told her, and placed her comfortably upon a low knoll. The blaze of autumn-tinted maples, oaks and sumacs was all around them, so beautiful that Cis caught her breath, then laughed to cover the emotion which dimmed her eyes. “I wonder how it can be so much more beautiful than we can take in!” she said. “It gives me no chance at all, though; makes even my hair look drab!” “Drab! I’d say so!” agreed Rodney derisively. “Cis-Holly, how about that code? I’ll help you with it, if you like; I’m a bird at things of that sort.”