"I just want to let you know that I intend to tell mother about meeting Barry out here to-day," she said, unsmilingly. "I shall not tell her that we planned it in advance, however. We did plan it, so if you want to run and tell her yourself, you may do so. It will make no--" "Is that all you wanted to say to me, Viola?" he interrupted. For a moment she faced him rebelliously, hot words on her lips. Then a surprising change came over her. Her eyes quailed under the justifiable scorn in his. She hung her head. "No," she said, miserably. "I thought it was all, but it isn't. I want to say that I am sorry I said what I did." He watched the scarlet flood sweep over her cheeks and then as swiftly fade. It was abject surrender, and yet he had no thrill of triumph. "It's--it's all right, Viola," he stammered, awkwardly. "Don't think anything more about it. We will consider it unsaid." "No, we'll not," she said, looking up. "We will just let it stand as another black mark against me. I am getting a lot of them lately. But I AM sorry, Kenneth. Will you try to forget it?" He shook his head. "Never! Forgetting the bitter would mean that I would also have to give up the sweet," said he, gallantly. "And you have given me something very sweet to remember." She received this with a wondering, hesitating little smile. "I never dreamed that brothers could say such nice things to their sisters," she said, and he was aware of a deep, questioning look in her eyes. "They usually say them to other men's sisters." "Ah, but no other fellow happens to have you as a sister," he returned, fatuously. She laughed aloud at this, perhaps a little uncertainly. "Bless me!" he exclaimed. "It sounds good to hear you laugh like that,--such a jolly, friendly sort of laugh." "I must be going now," she said, biting her lip. "Good-bye,--Kenny." A faint frown clouded her brow after she had uttered the name. "I must ask mother if she remembers hearing father speak of you as Kenny." "Say, Viola," came an impatient shout from Barry Lapelle, "are you going to take all day?" It was plain to be seen that the young man was out of temper. There was a sharp, domineering note of command in his voice. Viola straightened up in her saddle and sent a surprised, resentful look at the speaker. Kenneth could not repress a chuckle. "Better hurry along," he said, grimly, "or he'll take your head off. Lord, we are going to have a storm. I see a thundercloud gathering just below the rim of Barry's hat. If you--" "Please keep your precious wit to yourself," she flamed, but with all her show of righteous indignation she could not hide from him the chagrin and mortification that lurked in her tell-tale eyes. She rode off in high dudgeon, and he was left to curse his ill-timed jest. What a blundering fool he had been! Her first, timid little advance,--and he had met it with boorish, clownish wit! A scurvy jest, indeed! She was justified in despising him.