“I know you wouldn’t,” said he, “and you may be quite sure that I shall not say it. On the contrary I shall merely implore you to forget your own pleasure in consideration of mine.” “I really ought to devote the morning to Mr. Morley,” she said meditatively; “it’s such an honor his coming here, you know.” “A little bit of a whiskered monkey,” said Jack in great disgust; “an honor, indeed!” “He’s a very great man,” said Mrs. Rosscott; “every sort of institution has given him a few letters to put after his name, and some have given him whole syllables.” “You must get a straw hat, you know, or a sun-shade; it will be hot in half an hour.” “Oh, I couldn’t stay out half an hour; fifteen minutes would be the longest.” “All right, fifteen minutes, then, but do hurry.” “I didn’t say that I would go,” she said, opening her eyes; “and yet I feel myself gone.” She laughed lightly. “Do hurry,” he pleaded freshly; “oh, I am so hungry to—” She disappeared within doors and five minutes later came back with one of those charming floppy English garden hats, tied with a muslin bow beneath her dimpled chin. “This is so good of me,” she said, as they went down the steps. “Very good, heavenly good,” said Jack; and then neither spoke again until they had crossed the Italian garden and entered the American wood. She looked into his eyes then and smiled half-shyly and half-provokingly. “You are such a baby,” she said; “such a baby! Do ask me why and I’ll tell you half a dozen whys. I’d love to.” The path was the smoothest and shadiest of forest paths, the hour was the sweetest and sunniest of summer hours, the moment was the brightest and happiest of all the moments which they had known together—up to now. “Do tell me,” he said; “I’m wild to know.” He took her hand and laid it on his arm. For that little while she was certainly his and his alone, and no man had a better claim to her. “Go on and tell me,” he repeated. “There is one big reason and there are lots of little ones. Which will you have first?” “The little ones, please.” “Then, listen; you are like a baby because you are impatient, because you are spoilt, because when you want anything you think that you must have it, and because you like to be walked with.” “Are those the little reasons,” he said when she paused; “and what’s the big one?” “The big one,” she said slowly; “Oh, I’m afraid that you won’t like the big one!” “Perhaps it will be all the better for me if I don’t,” he laughed; “at any rate I beg and pray and plead to know it.” “What a dear boy!” she laughed. “If you want to know as badly as that, I’d have to tell you anyhow, whether I wanted to or not. It’s because I’m so much the oldest.” “Oh!” said Jack, much disappointed. “Is that why?” “And then too,” she continued, “you seem even younger because of your being so unsophisticated.” “So I am unsophisticated, am I?” he asked grimly. “Yes,” she said nodding; “at least you impress me so.”