in reverie the colonel would come back to this,--that Anne could
not be thought of, quite, in the same frame of mind wherein one
appraised other persons. Especially must he concede this curious
circumstance whenever, as to-night, he considered divers matters that
had taken place quite long enough ago to have been forgotten.

It was a foolish sort of a reverie, and scarcely worth the setting down.
It was a reverie of the kind that everyone, and especially everyone's
wife, admits to be mawkish and unprofitable; and yet, somehow, the next
still summer night, or long sleepy Sunday afternoon, or, perhaps, some
cheap, jigging and heartbreaking melody, will set a carnival of old
loves and old faces awhirl in the brain. One grows very sad over it, of
course, and it becomes apparent that one has always been ill-treated by
the world; but the sadness is not unpleasant, and one is quite willing
to forgive.

Yes,--it was a long, long time ago. It must have been a great number of
centuries. Matocton was decked in its spring fripperies of burgeoning,
and the sky was a great, pale turquoise, and the buttercups left a
golden dust high up on one's trousers. One had not become entirely
accustomed to long trousers then, and one was rather proud of them. One
was lying on one's back in the woods, where the birds were astir and
eager to begin their house-building, and twittered hysterically over the
potentialities of straws and broken twigs.

Overhead, the swelling buds of trees were visible against the sky, and
the branches were like grotesque designs on a Japanese plate. There was
a little clump of moss, very cool and soft, that just brushed one's
cheek.

One was thinking--really thinking--for the first time in one's life;
and, curiously enough, one was thinking about a girl, although girls
were manifestly of no earthly importance.

But Anne Willoughby was different. Even at the age when girls seemed
feckless creatures, whose aimings were inexplicable, both as concerned
existence in general, and, more concretely, as touched gravel-shooters
and snowballs, and whose reasons for bursting into tears were recondite,
one had perceived the difference. One wondered about it from time to
time.

Gradually, there awoke an uneasy self-conscious interest as to all
matters that concerned her, a mental pricking up of the ears when her
name was mentioned.

One lay awake o' nights, wondering why her hair curled so curiously
about her temples, and h