"But suppose I cannot," he said. "Cannot?" she echoed--"You do not appear to have lost the power of speech." "_Touché!_" he laughed. "_May_, would be the better word--I may not tell." "Why?" she said--"why may you not tell?" "Because it is inexpedient," he answered. "A matter of State?" she demanded. "No." "Violating a confidence?" "No." "Inexpedient!" she reflected--"Inexpedient!--there can be but one more reason:--it might provoke scandal, if known. Is that it?" "You are the very devil, Judith!" he exclaimed;--"yes, that is it." "Oh, delightful! delightful! Come, sir, what is it? Now, I will not be put off." He looked at her doubtfully, undecided what to do. He thought he could trust her--he felt sure that he could. But, what if she babbled? "You do not trust me," she said. "You fear that I shall tell." "No, not exactly," he said, "I trust _you_, but I fear that, _inadvertently_, you might tell.--However, you shall know it." She turned toward him, impulsively---- "But, not now--some one might overhear. Take me for a walk down the avenue, after supper." "Would you rather not tell?" she asked. "Because, if you would----" "How like a woman!" he laughed. "Work one up to the pitch, and then grow faint-hearted. No, you will have to hear it, now--and be bored." "There is no danger," she replied.--"I'll take you the walk, after supper--and I'll take you whether you tell me, or whether you do not." And she gave him a deliberate and dazzling smile which set Mr. Richard Maynadier to thinking more than ever. A little later, when, the supper ended and her duties as hostess were done for the time, she came out on the lawn, it was to find Richard Maynadier seated alone and waiting. He arose at once and bowed, and, without further ado she slipped her hand through his arm, and they strolled down the avenue toward the water. The full moon had just pushed its way through the fringe of trees beyond the Patuxent, the breath of the evening came to them, the fragrance of the roses and the lilacs, a gentle breeze sang softly through the leaves, and whispered among the branches. A faint laugh floated to them, and then another--and, presently, up the avenue, strolled Miss Stirling and Sir Edward Parkington. "Ah! what have we here?" exclaimed Miss Stirling. "Another couple!" "Going out into the moonlight," said Maynadier, quickly, "_not into the dark_." "Ho, ho!" Sir Edward laughed, "what have you to say now, my lady?" "That he is most impertinent." "Granted," returned Maynadier. "What else?" "Nothing, now," came over her shoulder; "I shall consider the penalty." "What did she mean by 'the penalty'?" Judith asked, when they were out of hearing. "I have not the slightest notion," said he. "Has she caught you, too,--I mean, have you joined the others in dancing attendance on her?" "Not to my knowledge," he smiled--"and, I am sure, not to hers."