g room; and he
had awkwardly opened the door into the kitchen.

"I haven't known you very long," she said.

"There isn't a lot to know about me," he grumbled. Then his face
cleared like the sunshine breaking through. "I could teach you to
savvey the whole works in an evening."

"There are the chocolate wafers up over the ice-chest--that brown tin
box." He reached up and heaved the package down, putting into that
simple and easy operation the energy of one lifting a trunk.

Annoyed, and a little amused, Eleanor watched him. All at once, she
felt a catch in her throat, was aware of a vague, uncomprehended
fear--fear of him, of her loneliness with him, of something further
and greater which she could not understand, did not try to understand.
She wanted air; wanted to get away. When he turned about, she stood
holding open the kitchen door, her eyes averted.

She felt that he was standing over her; she felt his smile as he
looked down.

"You needn't be in such a terrible hurry," he said.

"They'll be waiting for us on the lawn," she forced herself to answer.
It required all her energy to keep her voice clear and firm. Then she
hurried ahead into the open air. Once in sight of the lawn party, she
made herself walk beside him, even smile up at him.

"It's just as I said--" he had gone back to his grumbling voice and
his wholly presumptuous manner--"Either you don't like me, or you're
sore on me because I'm working for your uncle."

To the great relief of Eleanor, Mrs. Tiffany came out to meet them,
took the box from Bertram and accompanied them back to the tea table.
For the rest of the afternoon, Eleanor managed by one device or
another to save the situation. When, in the shifting of group and
group, she had no one else for protection, Teresa Morse, following her
like a dog, ready to come to her side at a glance, played the
involuntary chaperone.

Judge Tiffany had no word alone with his wife until the sun slanted
low across the orchard and the company broke up. When he met her
apart, he said:

"He ought to be a success, that protege of yours!"

"I have been dreadfully mortified!"

"Oh, not a social success, though that may come too, if he ever
perceives the necessity for it. But a general success. Such simple and
unturned directness as his ought to win out anywhere. It is more than
enchanting. It is magnificent. I'm willing to risk discipline on the
place just to study a specimen so unusual. Mattie, this ti