urtesy of mankind. Always fastidiously booted,
her low-quartered shoes were charming to the eye, but hardly adapted
to the dust and inequalities of the highroad. It was true that she had
thought of buying a coarser pair at Indian Spring, but once face to face
with their uncompromising ugliness, she had faltered and fled. The sun
was unmistakably hot, but her parasol was too well known and offered
too violent a contrast to the duster for practical use. Once she stopped
with an exclamation of annoyance, hesitated, and looked back. In half
an hour she had twice lost her shoe and her temper; a pink flush took
possession of her cheeks, and her eyes were bright with suppressed rage.
Dust began to form grimy circles around their orbits; with cat-like
shivers she even felt it pervade the roots of her blond hair. Gradually
her breath grew more rapid and hysterical, her smarting eyes became
humid, and at last, encountering two observant horsemen in the road, she
turned and fled, until, reaching the wood, she began to cry.

Nevertheless she waited for the two horsemen to pass, to satisfy herself
that she was not followed; then pushed on vaguely, until she reached a
fallen tree, where, with a gesture of disgust, she tore off her hapless
duster and flung it on the ground. She then sat down sobbing, but after
a moment dried her eyes hurriedly and started to her feet. A few paces
distant, erect, noiseless, with outstretched hand, the young solitary
of the Carquinez Woods advanced towards her. His hand had almost touched
hers, when he stopped.

"What has happened?" he asked gravely.

"Nothing," she said, turning half away, and searching the ground with
her eyes, as if she had lost something. "Only I must be going back now."

"You shall go back at once, if you wish it," he said, flushing slightly.
"But you have been crying; why?"

Frank as Miss Nellie wished to be, she could not bring herself to
say that her feet hurt her, and the dust and heat were ruining her
complexion. It was therefore with a half-confident belief that
her troubles were really of a moral quality that she answered,
"Nothing--nothing, but--but--it's wrong to come here."

"But you did not think it was wrong when you agreed to come, at our
last meeting," said the young man, with that persistent logic which
exasperates the inconsequent feminine mind. "It cannot be any more wrong
to-day."

"But it was not so far off," murmured the young girl, without looking
up.