e picking out of the man and the woman, this world
would suit me pretty well." She resented being called into other
society than that of her idle thoughts, and sat silent through supper,
trying to keep the thread of her fancies from breaking. But she was not
allowed to go back undisturbed to her fool's paradise.

Sleeny, who had scarcely removed his eyes from her during the meal,
rose with a start as she walked into the little sitting-room of the
family, and followed her. She went to the window with a novel to make
use of the last moments of daylight. He stood before her without
speaking, until she raised her eyes, and said sharply:

"Well, Sam, what's the matter?"

He was not quick either of thought or speech. He answered:

"Oh! nothin'. Only----"

"Only what?" she snapped.

"Won't you go and take a walk by the Bluff?"

She threw down her book at once. She liked exercise and fresh air, and
always walked with pleasure by the lake. Sam was to her such a nullity
that she enjoyed his company almost as much as being alone. She was
ready in a moment, and a short walk brought them to the little open
place reserved for public use, overlooking the great fresh-water sea.
There were a few lines of shade trees and a few seats, and nothing
more; yet the plantation was called Bluff Park, and it was much
frequented on holidays and Sundays by nurses and their charges. It was
in no sense a fashionable resort, or Maud would never have ventured
there in company with her humble adorer. But among the jovial puddlers
and brake-men that took the air there, it was well enough to have an
escort so devoted and so muscular. So pretty a woman could scarcely
have walked alone in Bluff Park without insulting approaches. Maud
would hardly have nodded to Sleeny on Algonquin Avenue, for fear some
millionaire might see it casually, and scorn them both. But on the
Bluff she was safe from such accidents, and she sometimes even took his
arm, and made him too happy to talk. They would walk together for an
hour, he dumb with audacious hopes that paralyzed his speech, and she
dreaming of things thousands of miles away.

This evening he was even more than usually silent. Maud, after she had
worn her reverie threadbare, noticed his speechlessness, and, fearing
he was about to renew the subject which was so tiresome, suddenly
stopped and said:

"What a splendid sunset! Did you ever see anything like it?"

"Yes," he said, with his gentle drawl. "Less