"Are you going over to the camp?" she asked. "I was, after I had said good-by," he answered. "Oh, we're not going for several hours yet. We shall take the noon train, mamma's decided." She possessed herself of the cushion, stuffed with spruce sprays, that lay on the piazza-steps, and added, "I will go over with you." They had hitherto made some pretence, one to the other, for being together at the camp; but this morning neither feigned any reason for it. Louise stopped, when she found he was not keeping up with her, and turned to him, and waited for him to reach her. "I wanted to speak with you, Mr. Maxwell, and I expect you to be very patient and tractable." She said this very authoritatively; she ended by asking, "Will you?" "It depends upon what it is. I am always docile if I like a thing." "Well, you ought to like this." "Oh, that's different. That's often infuriating." They went on, and then paused at the low stone wall between the pasture and the pines. "Before I say it, you must _promise_ to take it in the right way," she said. He asked, teasingly, "Why do you think I won't?" "Because--because I wish you to so much!" "And am I such a contrary-minded person that you can't trust me to behave myself, under ordinary provocation?" "You may think the provocation is extraordinary." "Well, let's see." He got himself over the wall, and allowed her to scramble after him. She asked herself whether, if he had the traditions of a society man, he would have done that; but somehow, when she looked at his dreamy face, rapt in remote thought that beautified it from afar, she did not care for his neglect of small attentions. She said to herself that if a woman could be the companion of his thoughts that would be enough; she did not go into the details of arranging association with thoughts so far off as Maxwell's; she did not ask herself whether it would be easy or possible. She put the cushion into the hammock for a pillow, but he chose to sit beside her on the bench between the pine-tree boles, and the hammock swayed empty in the light breeze that woke the sea-song of the boughs over them. "I don't know exactly how to begin," she said, after a little silence. "If you'll tell me what you want to say," he suggested, "I'll begin for you." "No, thank you, I'll begin myself. Do you remember, the other day, when we were here, and were talking of the difference in peoples' pride?" "Purse pride and poverty pride? Yes, I remember that." "I didn't like what you said, then; or, rather, what you were." "Have you begun now? Why didn't you?" "Because--because you seemed very worldly." "And do you object to the world? I didn't make it," said Maxwell, with his scornful smile. "But I've no criticisms of the Creator to offer. I take the world as I find it, and as soon as I get a little stronger, I'm going back to it. But I thought you were rather worldly yourself, Miss Hilary."