She shook her head slowly, with her eyes fixed on his face. And he, of course, misread the flush on her cheek, the dash of excitement in her eyes. And her low reply, too, “We'd better stay here,” was almost a caress. He leaned eagerly over the table, and said in a voice as low as hers: “When are you going to let me see you? There's no use in my trying to stay away--I couldn't ever do it. I'm sure to keep on coming until you treat me right--or send me away. And I don't believe that would stop me.” “Aren't you a little of an Irishman, Mr. Bedloe?” “Why?” She smiled, with all a woman's pleasure in conquest. “Why haven't you told me any of these things before?” “How could I? Now, Madge, any minute somebody's likely to come in. I want you to tell me--can you ever get away evenings?” “Of course I can, if I want to.” “To-morrow?” “Why?” “There's going to be a dance in the pavilion at St. Paul's Park. Do you ride a wheel?” She nodded. “It's a first-rate ride over there. There's a moon now, and the roads are fine. Have you ever been there?” “No.” “It's out on the north branch--only about a four-mile run from here. We can start out, say, at five o'clock, and take along something to eat. Then, if we don't feel like dancing, we can take a boat and row up the river.” She rested her chin on her hands, and looked at him with a half smile. “Do you really mean all this, Mr. Bedloe?” For reply, he reached over and took both her hands. “Will you go?” “Don't do that, please. Do you know how old I am?” “I don't care. What do you say?” “Please don't. I hear some one.” “No, it's a wagon. I want you to say yes.” “You--you know what it would mean if--if--” “If McGlory--Yes, I know. You're not afraid?” Her face hardened for an instant at this, and then, as suddenly, softened. “No,” she said; “I'm not afraid of anything.” “And you 'll go?” She nodded. “Shall I come here?” “No, you'd better not.” “Where shall we meet?” “Oh--let me see--over just beyond the station. It's quiet there.” “All right. And I 'll get a lunch put up.” “No--it's easier for me to do that. I 'll bring something. And now go--please.” He rose, and slipped around the table toward her. . “Don't--you _must_ go.” And so he went, leaving her to gaze after him with a high color. CHAPTER III--AT THE HOUSE ON STILTS [Illustration: 0076]