“Well, she won’t show the letter, that’s one thing sure, and I never could see why it is anything to be ashamed of that you love someone like mad! You can’t begin to love a man the instant he asks you to! Nan will say: ‘She’s still honest Cis, that’s one sure thing!’ Poor little mouse; she’ll worry her head off; probably think he’s a Jew with a Calvinistic mother, or something!” The hours that must pass before that early train started from Beaconhite on Sunday morning sped fast for Cis, in spite of her eagerness for the time to come. The feeble undercurrent of regret for her choice of man instead of God, for her broken promise to Nan, she stifled; indeed it hardly needed her attention, so eager was she now for a whole day with Rodney, so sure that he was going to take her into pleasant and beautiful places, show her how to grow ever happier with him. She arose much earlier than was necessary, dressed carefully in the golden brown tailored suit, with its accompanying smart, small hat of golden brown beaver, a bright wing of henna-orange laid on its brim its sole trimming, the new suit which was her pride and which Rod had said made her look “like the twin sister of Phoebus Apollo.” Cis went out of the house and ate a hasty breakfast at a restaurant because she was leaving before Mrs. Wallace’s regular breakfast hour. She hurried so fast that she had considerable spare time on her hands and walked to the station to fill it in; Rod had asked her to meet him there because there was risk of missing their train if he came to fetch her from her boarding place. Cis was surprised to see that there was a look of relief, as well as great joy on his face when she appeared; he was already waiting for her. “Ah, my Autumn Maiden!” he cried, seizing her hand tightly. “I don’t know why, because you’re a girl of your word, but somehow I was afraid you’d get cold feet at the last minute and not turn up! Awful glad you didn’t, Holly! You’re a Maple Tree Symphony in that rig! My, but you’re stunning, Holly!” “Nonsense, Rod! As though I didn’t know I wasn’t pretty!” cried Cis, her whole face spilling over rapture. “Pretty? Perhaps not; I said stunning! You don’t give a fellow time to consider whether you’re pretty or not,” rejoined Rodney. “You’re mighty easy to look at! No, you’re not, by jiminy! It’s hard afterward, anyway!” “If you talk stuff to me, Rory O’Moore, I’ll turn around and go home,” cried Cis. “Then I won’t, not till the train gets to pulling fast! Had anything to eat? It’s a beastly time to ask you to turn out, but I’m not regulating this railroad!” Rodney said. “Had my breakfast outside, not to bother Mrs. Wallace,” Cis told him. “Ate oodles.”