"Well, I've been very dull, anyhow. One never sees anybody fresh at Fairholme now. It's always either Mr. Tristram or Major Duplay." "Well, I shouldn't be very fresh either, should I?" The names she mentioned drew no sign from him. "I don't count you as a visitor at all--and they are visitors, I suppose." She seemed a little in doubt; yet both the gentlemen, at any rate, were not presumably received as members of the family. "I'll tell you what I've been thinking about," said Bob, speaking slowly, and apparently approaching a momentous announcement. "Yes," she said, turning to him with interest, and watching his handsome open face; it was not a very clever face, but it was a very pleasant one; she enjoyed looking at it. "I've been thinking that I'll sell the black horse, but I can't make up my mind whether to do it now or keep him through the summer and sell him when hunting begins. I don't know which would pay me best." "That certainly is a very important question," remarked Janie, with a wealth of sarcasm. "Well, it gives me a lot of trouble, Miss Janie." "Does it? And it doesn't interest me in the very--Yes, it does, Bob, very much. I'm sorry. Of course it does. Only----" "Anything the matter with you?" Bob inquired with friendly solicitude. "No--not just now. There never is, somehow, when I'm with you. And let's talk about the black horse--it'll be soothing. Is the price of oats a factor?" Bob laughed a little, but did not proceed with the discussion. They sauntered on in silence for a few minutes, Bob taking out his tobacco. "Worried, aren't you?" he asked, lighting his pipe. "Yes," she answered shortly. "Was that what you wanted to say to me?" "No, of course not; as if I should talk to you about it!" "Don't suppose you would, no. Still, we're friends, aren't we?" "Do you feel friendly to me?" "Friendly! Well----!" He laughed. "What do you think about it yourself?" he asked. "Look here, I don't bother you, but I'm here when you want me." "When I want you?" "I mean, if I can do anything for you, or--or advise you. I don't think I'm a fool, you know." "I'm really glad to hear you've got as far as that," she remarked rather tartly. "Your fault, Bob, is not thinking nearly enough of yourself." "You'll soon change that, if you say much more." His pleasure in her implied praise was obvious, but he did not read a single word more into her speech than the words she uttered. "And you are friendly to me--still?" "It doesn't make any difference to me whether I see you or not----" "What?" she cried. The next moment she was laughing. "Thanks, Bob, but--but you've a funny way of putting things sometimes." She laid her hand on his arm for a moment, sighing, "Dear old Bob!" "Oh, you know what I mean," he said, puffing away. His healthy skin had flushed a trifle, but that was his only reply to her little caress.