But the trouble with Darrel was that his modesty inclined him to be humorous at his own expense. Few women care for unattractive modesty; few endure it, none adores it. He was too modest to be attractive. "I was sauntering along," he said, "minding my own business, when I came face to face with a wild boar. He was grey, and he was far bigger than I ever again desire to see. Before I could recover my breath his eyes got red and he began to make castanette music with his tusks, fox-trot time. And do you know what happened--in _your_ forest, Mrs. Courland? I went up a tree, and I barked my shin in doing it. If you call that hospitality, my notions on the subject are all wrong." "Didn't you have a gun?" asked Karen. "I did. I admit it without a blush." "Why didn't you use it?" asked Mrs. Courland. "Use it? How? A gun doesn't help a man to climb a tree. It is in the way. I shall carry no more guns in your forest. A light extension ladder is all I require. And a book to pass away the time when treed." They all laughed. "Really," asked Guild curiously, "why didn't you shoot?" "First of all," said Darrel serenely, "I do not know how to fire off a gun. Do you want any further reasons?" "You looked so picturesque," said Valentine scornfully, "I never dreamed you were such a dub! And you don't seem to care, either." "I don't. I like to catch little fish. But my ferocity ends there. Kervyn, shall we try the trout for an hour this afternoon?" Valentine turned up her dainty nose. "I shall take Mr. Guild myself. You'd better find a gamekeeper who'll teach you how to shoot off a gun." And, to Guild: "I'll take you now if you like. It's only a little way to the Silverwiltz. Shall I get a rod and fly-book for you?" Karen, watching her, saw the frank challenge in her pretty brown eyes, saw Guild's swift response to that gay defiance. It was only the light, irresponsible encounter of two young people who had liked each other at sight and who had already established a frank understanding. So Valentine went into the house and returned presently switching a light fly-rod and a cast of flies; and Guild walked over and joined her. To Karen he looked very tall and sunburned, and unfamiliar in his blue-serge lounging clothes--very perfectly groomed, very severe, and unapproachable; and so much older, so much more mature, so much wiser than she had thought him. And, as her eyes followed him from where she was seated among the terrace flowers, she realized more than ever that she did not know what to say to him, what to do with him, or how to answer such a man. Her face grew very serious; she was becoming more deeply impressed with the seriousness of what he had asked of her; of her own responsibility. And yet, as far as love was concerned, she could find no answer for him. Friendship, swift, devoted, almost passionate, she had given him--a friendship which had withstood the hard shocks of anger and distrust, and the more bewildering shock of his kiss.