“My,” she exclaimed, “the healthy life has put you in the front row. Ned Higmann would rave about your shape and airs. It's too bad to bury them here in the mountains. I reckon you love me for that”--she turned cheerfully to Calvin--“but it's the truth. If you could do anything at all, Hannah, you'd lead a chorus and go in the olio. And you would draw at the stage door better than you would on the front. Young and fresh as a daisy spells champagne and diamond garters. I don't believe they'd let you stay in burlesque but sign you for comic opera.” The blood beat angrily in Calvin Stammark's head. Whatever did Phebe mean by talking like that to Hannah just when she was to marry him! He cursed silently at Richmond Braley's fatuous face, at Mrs. Braley's endorsement of all that her eldest daughter related, at Hosmer's assumption of worldly experience. But Hannah's manner filled him with apprehension. “It's according to how you feel,” Phebe continued; “some like to get up of a black winter morning and fight the kitchen fire. I don't. Some women are happy handing plates to their husband while he puts down a square feed. Not in mine.” “The loneliness is what I hate,” Hannah added. “It's hell,” the other agreed. “Excuse me, ma.” Hannah went on: “And you get old without ever seeing things. There is all that you tell about going on--those crowds and the jewels and dresses, the parties and elegant times; but there is never a whisper of it in Greenstream; nothing but the frogs that I could fairly scream at--and maybe a church social.” As she talked Hannah avoided Celvin Stammark's gaze. “Me and you'll have a conversation,” Phebe promised her recklessly. Choking with rage Calvin rose. “I might as well move along,” he asserted. “Don't get heated,” Phebe advised him. “I wouldn't break up your happy home, only I want Hannah to have an idea of what's what. I don't doubt you'll get her for a wife.” “There's nothing but slaving for a woman round here,” Mrs. Braley put in. “I'm right glad Phebe had so much spirit.” Richmond Braley evidently thought it was time for certain reservations. “You mustn't come down so hard on Calvin and me,” he said practically. “We're both likely young fellows.” “I'll be here evening after to-morrow,” Calvin told Hannah in a low voice. She nodded without interest. They must be married at once, he decided, his wise horse following unerringly the rocky road, stepping through splashing dark fords. If there was a repetition of the past visit he would have something to say. Hannah was his, she was promised to him. He felt the coolness of her cheeks, her bright mouth against his. A tyranny of misery and desire flooded him at the sudden danger--it was as much as that--threatening his happiness and life.