Though Mrs. Palmer had no objection to exaggeration in a good cause, she had not in the least been guilty of it when she said that Amelie adored Bertie Keynes. Most girls have daydreams of some kind, and Amelie, with the vividness that characterized her, had conjured up before now with some completeness her own complement. Unless a woman is celibate by nature (a thing happily rare), she is frequently conscious of the empty place in herself which it is her duty and her constant, though often unconscious, quest to find the tenant for. And Amelie was not in the least of a celibate nature; her warm blood beat generously, and the love of her nature that should one day pour itself on one at present overflowed in runnels of tenderness for all living things. The sprouts of the springing daisies were dear to her--dogs, horses, even the wild riot of the Revels, was worthy of her affectionate interest. But the rather unreasonable attention she bestowed on these numberless objects of affection was only the overflow from the cistern. One day it would be all given in full flood, its waters would bathe one who had chosen her, and whom her heart chose. This morning she was riding through the woods with Bertie Keynes, the charmingly sensible laws of American etiquette making it possible for her to ride with anyone she wished, alone and unattended. They had just pulled up from a gallop through the flowering wood paths, and the two horses, muscle-stretched and quiet, were willing to walk unfrettingly side by side. 'Oh, it all smells good, it smells very good,' she said. 'And this morning somehow--I suppose it's after mamma's fête--I like the fresh, green out-of-doors more than ever. I think we live altogether too much indoors in America.' 'But the fêtes were entirely out of doors,' said Bertie. 'Yes; but the pearl-party was just the most indoor thing I ever saw,' said she. 'Certainly it was out of doors, but all the time I wanted somebody to open the windows, let in a breath--a breath of----'and she paused for a word. 'I know what you mean,' he said. 'Did you feel it too? I want to know?' 'In that case, I did.' He looked at her a moment. 'But all the time you were my breath of out-of-doors,' he said. Amelie was not fool enough to take this as a compliment, or to simper acknowledgments. As he spoke he wondered how she would take it, hoped she would look at him, anyhow, then hoped she would not. 'Ping-pong is indoors enough,' she said. 'Do tell me what you think of him.' 'I don't think of him,' said Bertie. 'If I sat down to think of him I should instantly begin, without meaning to, to think about something else.' 'Do you loathe him?' she asked. 'Good heavens, no! But--but there are people like husks. Just husks.' She considered this. 'Husky Ping-pong,' she said, half to herself. 'Poor Husky Ping-Pong. Do you grow them in England?'