"Oh, ought I? Did you say you had been engaged less than a minute, Mr. Kilmeny? How much will you give me to go down now and tell him?" "I've nothing left to give--except my gratitude." "You're the first man who ever was so ungallant as to tell me he would be grateful to have me leave him." "I'm the first who ever proposed to another girl in your presence. The circumstance is unusual," he flung back gayly. "I didn't hear you propose. All you did was to announce it," she replied saucily. "That's true too," admitted Kilmeny. "Well, I'm going to propose now if it isn't too late. You may stay if you like." "Thanks, no." Joyce kissed her friend. "I hope you'll be very happy, dear. I ... I believe you will." Moya choked on her words. "I know I shall, Joy." Miss Seldon looked at Jack with an expression in which embarrassment and audacity were blended. "I've always rather liked your pauper," she confided aloud to Moya. Her confidences had their limits. She omitted to mention what had just popped into her mind, that within the fortnight he had proposed to her too on the same spot. Jack bowed with exaggerated deference when she shook hands with him. He was just now riding the seventh wave of happiness and felt friendly to the whole world. "Thanks very much. You're a good scout, Joyce." "Good gracious! What may that be? Some more of your American slang, I suppose." She broke away from persiflage to add seriously: "You're right about one thing, though. You've got the best girl in the world. Be good to her, Jack Kilmeny." With that she turned and walked down the hill. The other two walked up. "I'm so proud of you, Jack, boy," whispered one of them. He laughed happily. "I'm proud of myself. I've done the best day's work I ever did for myself when I won Moya Dwight." "You know what I mean, Jack. What other man would have thrown away a small fortune--all he had--just for me?" "I can name one other," suggested Kilmeny. "Ned! But he's a saint." "And I'm a sinner," her lover replied blithely. "You're the sinner I love, then." They had reached a clump of firs. Without knowing how it happened she found herself in his arms. There were both tears and laughter in her eyes as her lips turned slowly to meet his. "The first time since we were kiddies on the _Victorian_, sweetheart," he told her. "Yes, it's true. I loved you then. I love you now.... Jack, boy, I'm just the happiest girl alive." A mist-like veil of old rose hung above the mountain tops. Hand in hand they watched the rising sun pierce through it and flood the crotches of the hills with God's splendid canvases. It was a part of love's egoism that all this glory of the young day seemed an accompaniment to the song of joy that pulsed through them.