“Yes; it’s my telephone system.” “Who’s at the other end?” “The peon who pretends to look after the _quinta_ for me.” “A man! No man can keep a house fit to live in,” she said scornfully. “I know it; but he’s all I’ve got in the servant line.” “How far is the house from here?” “A mile, by air. Seven by trail from town.” “Isn’t it lonely?” “Yes.” Suddenly she felt very sorry for him. There was such a quiet, conclusive acceptance of cheerlessness in the monosyllable. “How soon must you go back?” “Oh, not for an hour, at least.” “If it’s a call, it must be an important one, so far from civilization.” “Not necessarily. Don’t you ever have calls that are not important?” No answer came. “Miss Brewster!” he called. “Oh, Voice! You haven’t gone?” Still no response. “That isn’t fair,” he complained, making his way swiftly down, and satisfying himself by a peep about the angle commanding her point of the rock that she had, indeed, vanished. Sadly he descended to his own nook—and jumped back with a half-suppressed yell. “You needn’t jump out of your skin on my account,” said Miss Polly Brewster, with a gracious smile. “I’m not a devilkin.” “You are! That is—I mean—I—I—beg your pardon. I—I—” “The poor man’s having another bashful fit,” she observed, with malicious glee. “Did the bold, bad, forward American minx scare it almost out of its poor shy wits?” “You—you startled me.” “No!” she exclaimed, in wide-eyed mock surprise. “Who would have supposed it? You didn’t expect me down here, did you?” Thereupon she got a return shock. “Yes, I did,” he said; “sooner or later.” “Don’t fib. Don’t pretend that you knew I was here.” “W-w-well, no. Not just now. B-b-but I knew you’d come if—if—if I pretended I didn’t want you to long enough.” “Young and budding scientist,” said she severely, “you’re a gay deceiver. Is it because you have known me in some former existence that you are able thus accurately to read my character?” “Well, I knew you wouldn’t stay up there much longer.” “I’m angry at you; very angry at you. That is, I would be if it weren’t that you really didn’t mean it when you said that you really didn’t want to see my face again.” “Did any one ever see your face once without wanting to see it again?” “Ah, bravo!” She clapped her hands gayly. “Marvelous improvement under my tutelage! Where, oh, where is your timidity now?” “I—I—I forgot,” he stammered, “As long as I don’t think, I’m all right. Now, you—you—you’ve gone and spoiled me.” “Oh, the pity of it! Let’s find some mild, impersonal topic, then, that won’t embarrass you. What do you do under the shadow of this rock, in a parched land?” “Work. Besides, it isn’t a parched land. Look on this side.” Half a dozen steps brought her around the farther angle, where, hidden in a growth of shrubbery, lay a little pool of fairy loveliness, “That’s my outdoor laboratory.”