He looked at her again. But his bungling masculine line of procedure was not of the kind to entrap even so untried a beginner. It made her smile a little, and then she looked down to hide the smile. “Wasn’t it jolly that we met?” she said, stroking the satiny surface of her new jacket and presenting to his glance a non-committal profile. The Colonel knew her well enough by this time to realize that she intended neither to confess nor to be trapped into revelations of past occupancy of the bench. He returned to less intricate lines of converse. “Who do you think’s to be here to-morrow?” “A friend?” “A friend from Foleys,--Rion Gracey, and Barney Sullivan with him.” “Rion Gracey!” She looked pleased and slightly embarrassed. “Really--really!” She paused, her face full of smiles, that in some way or other showed disquietude beneath them. “They’re down from Foleys and going on to Virginia in a day or two. Queer they came around this way, wasn’t it?” Again the Colonel could not keep from attempts to plumb hidden depths. Again his inspecting eye noticed a fluctuation of color. June was unquestionably surprised by the news, but he could not be sure whether she was pleased. “You’ll have to have them up to dinner,” he continued. “You saw so much of them last summer before you left that you’ll have to offer them some kind of hospitality.” “Of course,” she said hastily, flashing an almost indignant look at him. “They’ll take dinner with us, or breakfast, or lunch, or anything they like. I’d love to see them and hear about everything up there. I want to hear how Barney Sullivan’s getting on with Mitty. I thought they’d be engaged by this time.” “Perhaps they are”--it must be confessed that the Colonel’s interest in the love affairs of his friend Mitty sounded perfunctory--“I wish Rion was, too.” “Yes,” in a small, precise voice, “wouldn’t it be nice?” “It would make me very happy,” said the Colonel gravely, “very happy, June. You know that.” “Would it?” with a bright air of innocent surprise. “Why?” The Colonel turned and looked at her squarely, almost sternly. “You know why, June Allen,” he said. She had taken off her gloves and now suddenly slipped her hand into his and nestled nearer to him. “Don’t talk solemnly,” she said, in a coaxing voice. “Don’t make me feel as if I was in church.” He cast a side-glance at her, caught her twinkling eye, and they both laughed. “You aggravating girl!” he said. “It’s all for your own good that I’m talking solemnly. I want you to be happy.” “Well, I am happy, very happy. Don’t you think I look like a person who’s happy?” He did not look at her, and she raised herself, and taking him by the two ears gently turned his face toward her. “Excuse me,” she said politely, “but as you wouldn’t look at me I had to make you. Don’t I look happy?” “Happy enough now,” he answered. “I was thinking of the future.”