The roar of the city was dim and far away. The only sounds to break the stillness were the laughter of lovers along the walks below and the distant cry of steamers in the harbor and rivers. “You'd almost think you're in the mountains up here, now wouldn't you?” he asked, after a moment's silence. “Yes. I call this park my country estate. It costs me nothing to keep it in perfect order. The city pays for it all. But I own it. Every tree and shrub and flower and blade of grass, every statue and bird and animal in it is mine. I couldn't get more joy out of them if I had them inclosed behind an iron fence, and the deed to the land in my pocket--not half as much, for I'd be lonely and miserable without someone to see and enjoy it all with me.” “Gee, that's so, ain't it? I never looked at it like that before.” He gazed at her a long time in silent admiration, and then spoke briskly. “Now tell me about this North Carolina and all those miles and square miles of mountains.” “You've a piece of paper and pencil?” He lifted his hand school-boy fashion: “Johnny on the spot, teacher!” A blank-book and pencil he threw in her lap and leaned close. “Tear the leaves out, if you like.” “No, I'll just draw the maps on the pages and leave them for you to study.” With deft touch she outlined in rough on the first page, the states of New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Virginia and North Carolina, tracing his possible route by Trenton, Philadelphia, Wilmington, Dover, Norfolk and Raleigh, or by Washington, Richmond, and Danville to Greensboro. “Either route you see,” she said softly, “leads to Salisbury, where you strike the foothills of the mountains. It's about two hundred miles from there to Asheville and `The Land of the Sky.'” For two hours she answered his eager, boyish questions about the country and its people, his eyes wide with admiration at her knowledge. The sun was sinking in a sea of scarlet and purple clouds behind the tall buildings beside the Park before she realized that they had been talking for more than two hours. She sprang to her feet, blushing and confused. “Mercy, I had no idea it was so late.” “Why--is it late?” he asked incredulously. “We must hurry----” She brushed the stray ringlets of hair from her forehead, laughed and hurried down the pathway. They crossed the Park and took the Madison Avenue line to Twenty-third Street. They were silent in the car. The roar of the traffic was deafening after the quiet of the summer house among the trees. “I can see you home?” he inquired appealingly. “We get off at Twenty-third Street.” They stood on the steps at her door beside the Square and there was a moment's awkward silence. He lifted his hat with a little chivalrous bow. “Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock in my car?” She smiled and hesitated. “You'll have a bully time!” “It's Sunday,” she stammered. “Sure, that's why I asked you.” “I don't like to miss my church.”