"Oh, why, y-yes, of course--only, you know, I hope he won't spend his life building these things"--indicating with his head the great building which they were now passing, the gusts of wind tossing them and making it impossible to keep the umbrella open. "Oh, but he's to build railroads and great bridges--not houses at all." "Um--well, that's better. By the way, I believe you go to the Adirondacks this summer." "Yes, Father has a cottage--he calls it a camp--there. That is, he had. He says he supposes it's a wreck by this time. He hasn't seen it, you know, for years." "I suppose there is no law against my going to the Adirondacks, too, is there?" he asked, rather meekly. "You know, I should like to see that young man of yours. Maybe I might get some idea of what I ought to be like to make you proud of me. I haven't been there since I was a boy, but I remember I liked it then. No doubt I'd like it this year if--if that young man is there. I suppose I could find a place to stay not more than twenty miles or so from your camp, so you could send word, you know, any time you were getting proud of me." She laughed--he thought a little nervously. "Why, yes," she admitted, "there's a sort of hotel or lodge or something, not far away. I know that from Father. He said we might have to stay there awhile until our camp is ready. Oh, but this talk of the mountains makes me want to be there. I wish I were starting to-night!" It seemed a curious place to discuss a summer's vacation--under a big wind-tossed umbrella, along Broadway on a March evening. Perhaps the incongruity of it became more manifest with the girl's last remark, for her companion chuckled. "Pretty disagreeable up there to-night," he objected; "besides, I thought you liked all this a few minutes ago." "Yes, oh, yes; I do, of course! It's all so big and bright and wonderful, though after all there is nothing like the woods, and the wind and rain in the hills." What a strange creature she was, he thought. The world was so big and new to her, she was confused and disturbed by the wonder of it and its possibilities. She longed to have a part in it all. She would settle down presently and see things as they were--not as she thought they were. He was not altogether happy over the thought of the young man who had made his way and was to be a civil engineer. He had not heard of this friend before. Doubtless it was some one she had known in childhood. He was willing that Constance should be proud of him; that was right and proper, but he hoped she would not be too proud or too personal in her interest. Especially if the young man was handsome. She was so likely to be impulsive, even extreme, where her sympathies were concerned. It was so difficult to know what she would do next.