"Oh, yes," he agreed listlessly. "I'm so glad..." He thanked her, but avoided her eye. "We might's well begin to-night," she suggested presently, with diffident, downcast eyes. "What--the choir?" He was startled. "Oh, I couldn't without a rehearsal--" "No, I didn't mean that..." "No?" "I mean about Roland." She was paying minute attention to the lace insertion of her skirt. From this circumstance he divined that he was on dangerous ground, but could not, in his stupidity, understand just what made it dangerous. "About Roland--?" "Yes; I mean... You know what I mean, Mr. Duncan?" "I assure you I do not, Miss Lockwood." "About not walking home with him any more. I don't want to. I wish you'd commence to-night, instead of choir practice night. I'd much rather walk home with you." "After evening service, you mean?" She nodded. "It'll be a great pleasure." "Really?" She gave him her eyes now. "Really," he assured her. "Ah, I don't believe you mean that!" "But indeed I do...." It was not until nearly five o'clock that he was given a chance to escape. He had, even then, to refuse inflexibly an invitation to stay to supper. Minta Lockwood--an expansive woman, generously convex--almost smothered him with appreciation of his thanks. She held his hand in a large, moist palm and beamed upon him, saying: "Now't you know the way, Mr. Duncan...." "Yes," Blinky insisted, blinking roguishly, "drop in any time. Take pot luck. We're plain people, Mr. Duncan, but allus glad to see our friends. Drop in any time." Josie accompanied him to the front gate, where etiquette required him to linger for a parting chat.... "Good-bye." The girl gave him her hand. "I'm real glad you came--at last." "The pleasure has been all mine," insisted the gallant bromide, fishing the trite phrase desperately from the grey vacuity of his thoughts. "You won't forget?" "Forget what?" "About to-night?" "Do you imagine I could?..." Josie returned to the family conclave, to interrupt a symposium on Duncan's qualities. He was unanimously approved, on every point. She took no part in the conversation, but listened, aglow with the pride of triumph, until old Ben chose to observe: "He seems to've taken a right smart set for Josie." Then she rose, blushing, and tossed her pretty, pert head. "How you all do talk!" she cried. "I'm not thinking about Mr. Duncan that way." And she left the gathering. "You might's well begin now as later," pursued her, accompanied by chucklings; and she tossed her head, but wasn't at all displeased, be sure. Duncan wrote to Kellogg in his room that night after church: "I don't want to sound immodest, but it looks as if you were right, old man: apparently there's nothing to it...