"No," he said, troubled, "that couldn't change so suddenly. But I never before saw this side of your character. I didn't know it existed--never supposed--dreamed----" "Speaking of dreams," she interrupted with calm irrelevance, "I never told you that I finally did cross that frontier. Shall I tell you about it while we are walking back?" "If you choose," he said, almost sullenly. "Don't you care to hear about my dream? As I made a pillow of you during the process, I really think you are entitled to hear about it--" She broke off with a quick, involuntary laugh: "Why do you look hurt, Kervyn?" At that he became serious to the verge of gloom. "Come," she said sweetly, slipping her hand through his arm, "I want to tell you how I crossed that wonderful frontier----" "I told you," he said gravely, "that I love you. Am I not entitled to an answer?" "Entitled, Kervyn? I don't know to how many things you are _en_-titled. All I know is that you are titled--several times--aren't you?" He reddened and bit his lip. "Because," she went on gaily, "you served your time in the Guides. That is a very natural deduction, isn't it?" He said nothing; he was very seriously upset. His stern mouth and darkened face betrayed it. And deep in Karen's heart the little imps of laughter danced to its mischievous beating. After they had walked through the forest for a while in silence, she halted and withdrew her arm. "You know," she said, "we are not nearly well enough acquainted for you to be moody and unamiable." "I did not mean to be either," he said. "What is it that has come between us, Karen?" "Why, nothing I hope," she said fervently. "I hope so, too.... You have been different since--" He hesitated, and she turned her head carelessly and looked back at the little brook they had crossed. When her blush had cooled she resumed her leisurely walk and glanced up at him inquiringly: "Since _when_ have you thought me different?" "Since we--_kissed_----" "Please, Kervyn! Not _we_. I think it was you who performed that very childish rite." "Is that the way you regarded it?" "Didn't you?" "No." "You didn't take it seriously!" she exclaimed with an enchanting laugh. "Did you really? I'm so dreadfully sorry!" The dark flush on his face frightened her. It was her first campaign and she was easily alarmed. But she was wise enough to say nothing. "Yes," he said with an effort, "I did take it very seriously. And I took you seriously, too. I don't understand your new attitude toward me--toward life itself. Until today I had never seen any lightness in you, any mockery----" "Lightness? You saw plenty in me. I was not very difficult, was I?--on the train? Not very reticent about my views concerning friendship and my fears concerning--love. Why should you be surprised at the frivolity of such a girl? It has taken so many years for me to learn to laugh. Nineteen, I think. Won't you let me laugh a little, now that I know how?"