u were Querida you'd sing in an exceedingly agreeable tenor," she
observed.

"Not being Querida, and labouring further under the disadvantage of a
barytone, I won't," he said.

"Please, Louis."

"Oh, very well--if you feel as romantic as that." And he began to sing:

"My wife's gone to the country,
Hurrah! Hurrah!"

"Louis! Stop it! Do you know you are positively corrupt to do such a
thing at such a time as this?"

"Well, it's all I know, Valerie--"

"I could cry!" she said, indignantly, and maintained a dangerous silence
until they drifted into the still waters of the outlet where the
starlight silvered the sedge-grass and feathery foliage formed a roof
above.

Into the leafy tunnel they floated, oars shipped; she, cheek on hand,
watching the fire-flies on the water; he, rid of his cigarette,
motionless in the stern.

After they had drifted half a mile she seemed disinclined to resume the
oars; so he crossed with her, swung the boat, and drove it foaming
against the silent current.

On the return they said very little. She stood pensive, distraite, as he
tied the boat, then--for the road was dark and uneven--took his arm and
turned away beside him.

"I'm afraid I haven't been very amusing company," he ventured.

She tightened her arm in his--a momentary, gentle pressure:

"I'm merely too happy to talk," she said. "Does that answer satisfy
you?"

Touched deeply, he took her hand which rested so lightly on his
sleeve--a hand so soft and fine of texture--so cool and fresh and
slender that the youth and fragrance of it drew his lips to it. Then he
reversed it and kissed the palm.

"Why, Louis," she said, "I didn't think you could be so sentimental."

"Is that sentimental?"

"Isn't it?"

"It rather looks like it, doesn't it?"

"Rather."

"Did you mind?"

"No.... Only--you and I--it seems--superfluous. I don't think anything
you do could make me like you more than I do."

"You sweet little thing!"

"No, only loyal, Kelly. I can never alter toward you."

"What's that? A vow!"

"Yes--of constancy and of friendship eternal."

"'_Nomen amicitia est; nomen inane fides_!--Friendship is only a name;
constancy an empty title,'" he quoted.

"Do you believe that?"

"Constancy is an honest wish, but a dishonest promise," he said. "You
know it lies with the gods, Valerie."

"So they say. But I know myself. And I know that, however I may ever
care for anybody else, it can never be at