He found her standing in a tangle of late blackberries, hatless, her sleeves rolled to the elbow, reaching up to break off a crimson maple branch. She heard him crashing through brake and bramble, and turned. He did not see that she changed colour, she was so browned by the mountain sun--but she was startled. She did not move, but stood, holding the branch and looking at him without a word. “How do you do?” he said, shaking hands. “Hardly expected to see me, did you?” “No. This is a surprise. When did you get here?” “Just now.” “Well, you're just in time to walk back with me.” He was disappointed. “Don't go right down. I came because they told me you were here, and now it would be too bad not to see you.” “I'm going to play tennis, and there's only an hour before dark. Here, you may carry these branches. Aren't they beautiful? You walk ahead so I can look at them.” There was no other way; the trail was narrow, and with the great bundle of branches in his arms he had all he could do to pick his way down the rocky path. Near the house they were met by a big young man in flannels, carrying tennis rackets. He looked curiously at Halloran, and passing him, walked with Miss Davies. “Mr. Halloran,” she said, “Mr. Green.” Mr. Green bowed and said, “How are you?” with an eastern drawl. And that was the last Halloran saw of her until supper time. He might have sat on the veranda and watched the game, but he did not; instead, he walked down to the road, and in the same plunging mood that had brought him East he went swinging up the valley. The bold splashes of crimson and yellow and golden brown on the long slopes, brought sharply out by the somber pines; the fringe of Queen Anne's lace along the road, and the masses of goldenrod and mint; the hum of millions of bees; the tumbling brook a rod away, with its pebbly ripples and dark pools; these he hardly saw. Even the Wittenberg, standing rugged against the sky, its crown of balsams now a trembling, luminous purple under the shafts of the setting sun, could not move him. After supper, by some managing, he caught her alone in the hall. “Come,” he said, “let's go outside.” She hesitated, but yielded. “I can't stay out but a minute. It's too cold.” “Get a wrap or something. If you bundle up we could sit awhile. It's stuffy in there.” “Oh, no, I can't. We're going to play euchre to-night.” “We----” “Oh, everybody. That means you, too, of course. Come in and let me introduce you. The people are jolly, most of them. There are always some queer ones, you know, at a place like this.” “But, Margaret, I didn't come to play euchre. I don't want to know these people. Can't you see? I came on purpose to see you, and to talk to you. Get your things and take a walk with me. Never mind the euchre.” “Oh, no, I couldn't do that. The people--it wouldn't look right.” “What do we care for them?” “No, I mustn't. We had really better go in.” And in she went, with Halloran, crestfallen, following.