“You and I almost had a battle last night,” he went on. “After I went away I thought it over, and decided that you--we--had been very silly. It seemed so strange for a Barry and a Laurens to quarrel. Why, our families have been neighbors and friends almost a century,” proudly. “That is no reason why you should have been so--so domineering and overbearing to me,” she broke out, with defiant eyes. He looked intently at the tall green ferns growing in the masses of mossy stone by the road-side several minutes before he replied, quietly: “I am sorry. Will you forgive me?” “If--you--won’t--_tell_ Aunt Thalia,” she replied, half entreatingly. The violet orbs turned from contemplating the ferns to her face. The two pairs of eyes met. “Did you really think I could tell tales?” he queried, gravely, and something in those eyes impelled her to answer: “No.” “Ah, I thought you would learn to trust me,” he said, with that wonderful smile whose sweetness dazzled Molly’s eyes. “Now let us pledge friendship, for the sake of--our families.” She began to smile, her anger melting under his kindliness. “I--I--won’t claim your friendship on the score of our families. If you promise me your friendship, it must be for what I am worth myself--and if I like you, it must be for yourself, not because you are a Laurens,” she replied, with such seriousness and earnestness that he laughed, and quoted: “‘Kind hearts are more than coronets,’ you think, Miss Barry. Well, I own I am proud of my family, but I am willing to take your good-will on your own terms.” He held his hand out, and she laid her little gloved one in it. He pressed her shabby little gauntlet a moment, gently, and a thrill of pleasure ran along the girl’s nerves. “He is so nice--and only last night I hated him!” she said, naïvely, to herself. What a ride it was, and how charming she found her late foe! He praised her riding, and declared that it was splendid, considering this was only her second attempt. “You must let me ride with you every morning. You will find me more trustworthy than Uncle Abe,” he said, and Molly, who had vowed only that morning that she would have nothing to do with him, agreed to his wish with frank pleasure. But the violet eyes and the low, winning voice had disarmed her resentment. Molly was pleased to find a friend where she had dreaded an enemy. “He will not tell Aunt Thalia, and if Louise will only let me come home before I do any other mischief, everything will go right,” she thought; then, looking up, suddenly: “If I get a letter from my sister this morning, I shall have to go home soon,” she said. She saw a dark frown come over his face. He exclaimed, brusquely: “I hate to hear you call that actress’ daughter sister!” “Why?” sharply.