"I can't. I simply can't. It would be deceitful, and I am not a bit like that. I'm just what I am, open and aboveboard in everything. And that is why I know--_feel_ that I did not act right last night." "There you go again," he cried, lightly, forcing a laugh. "When will you ever drop that? You say you love me, and I _know_ I love you, so why should you _not_ let me kiss you? I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll order a horse and buggy sent out from Ridgeville this afternoon, and we will take a nice drive over the mountain." "To-day?--not to-day," Dolly said, firmly. "There is to be an afternoon service at the church. I'd be a pretty thing driving about the country with a handsome city man while all the other girls were--oh, it never would do! I'm sorry, but I couldn't think of it. People talk about a school-teacher more than any one else, and this valley is full of malicious gossips." He was wondering if a little pretense of offense on his part--which, to his shame, he remembered using in former affairs of the heart--might make her relent, when he noticed that she was watching something on the road leading to the village. It was a horse and buggy. Her sight was keener than his, for she said, in a sudden tone of gratification: "It is Mr. Saunders. He is on his way out home." "So it is," Mostyn said, impatiently. "I'll go down to the gate and speak to him. Will you come?" With her eyes on the vehicle, and saying nothing, Dolly tripped down the steps. How gracefully she moved, he thought. They reached the gate just as Saunders drew rein. "Hello!" he cried, cheerily. "How are you, Dolly?" And, doffing his hat, he sprang down and shook hands with them both. "I'm lucky to catch you," he added to the girl. "I have something for you." "Oh, I'm so glad!" Dolly cried. "You are always so kind and thoughtful." "It is only a couple of books." Saunders had flushed slightly, and he turned back to the buggy, taking from beneath the seat a parcel wrapped in brown paper. "Mostyn, they have a most wonderful reading-circle here in the mountains. I have quit trying to keep pace with them." He held the parcel toward Dolly. "I heard you say all of you wanted to know something of Balzac's philosophy. I find that he has expressed it in his novels _Louis_ _Lambert_ and _Seraphita_. The introductions in both these volumes are very complete and well written." "Oh, they are _exactly_ what we want." Dolly was very happy over the gift, and she thanked the blushing Saunders warmly. Mostyn stood by, vaguely antagonistic. He had not read the books in question, and he had a feeling that his partner was receiving a sort of gratitude which he himself could never have won. Then another thought possessed him. How well the two seemed mated! Why, Saunders--plain, steady, ever-loyal Saunders, with his love of books and Nature, and his growing aversion to gay social life--was exactly the type of man to make a girl like Dolly a good husband.