"Have a good time!" he shouted after them, as they plunged out of sight, somewhat jerkily, for Thomas, who had not driven a great deal, was not a master of gear-shifting. His mother looked at him anxiously. "I can't help feelin' you're up to some deviltry, Austin," she said uneasily, "though I don't know just what 'tis. I'm kinder nervous about this plan of them goin' off to Wallacetown." "I'm not," said Austin with a wicked grin, and took out his French dictionary. The first part of the evening, however, seemed to indicate that Mrs. Gray's fears were groundless. Sylvia and Thomas reached the Moving-Picture Palace without mishap, though they had left the Homestead so late owing to the latter's change of attire and the slow rate at which the mud and his lack of skill had obliged them to ride, that the audience was already assembled, and "The Terror of the Plains," a stirring tale of an imaginary West, was in full progress before they were seated. Thomas's dress-suit did not fail to attract immediate attention and equally immediate remarks, and Sylvia, who hated to be conspicuous, felt her cheeks beginning to burn. But--more sincerely than Mr. Elliott--she decided that it was better to wait until the entertainment was over than to attract further notice by going out at once. Thomas, less sensitive than she, enjoyed himself thoroughly. "We have splendid pictures in Burlington," he announced, "but this is good for a place of this size, isn't it, Sylvia?" "Yes. Don't talk so loudly." "I can't talk any softer and have you hear unless I put my head up closer. Can I?" "Of course, you may not. Don't be so silly." "I didn't mean to be fresh. You're not cross, are you, Sylvia?" It seemed to her as if the "show" would never end. Chagrin and resentment overcame her. What had possessed her to come to this hot, stuffy place with Thomas, instead of reading French in her peaceful, pleasant sitting-room with Austin? Why didn't Austin show more eagerness to be with her, anyway? She liked to be with him--ever and ever so much--didn't see half so much of him as she wanted to. There was no use beating about the bush. It was perfectly true. She was growing fonder of him, and more dependent on him, every day. And every other man she had ever known had been grateful for her least favor, while he--Her hurt pride seemed to stifle her. She was very close to tears. She was jerked back to composure by the happy voice of Thomas. "My, but that was a thriller! Come on over to the drug-store, Sylvia, and have an ice-cream cone." "I'm not hungry," said Sylvia, rising, "and it must be getting awfully late. I'd rather go straight home." Thomas, though disappointed, saw no choice. But once off the brilliantly lighted "Main Street," and lumbering down the road towards Hamstead, he decided not to put off the great moment, for which he had been waiting, any longer. Wondering why his stomach seemed to be caving in so, he tactfully began.