out--"

"Yes, but the girl mustn't get through eight-foot walls."

"I don't see what difference that makes." She must have given him a
swift glance here. But she laughed again. "You evidently don't
realize, Jerry, that monasteries are supposed to be taboo for young
girls."

"Yes, but you didn't know about it being a monastery," he said
seriously.

"Of course, or I shouldn't have dared. But that makes no difference to
Marcia. I was there. You told her. Don't you know, Jerry, that it
isn't good form to tell _everything_ you know?"

"She guessed it," he muttered. "It's such a lot of talk about
nothing." I think Jerry was getting a little warm now. "Suppose you
_were_ in there, whose affair is it but yours and mine?"

"Everybody's," she shrugged. "Everybody's business! That ought to be
inscribed on the tombstone of every dead reputation. _Hic jacet_ Una
Habberton. Nice girl, but she _would_ visit monasteries."

But nothing was humorous to Jerry's mood just then.

"I can't have you talking like that, Una," he said in a suppressed
tone. "It's very painful to me. I can't imagine why anyone should try
to injure you. They couldn't, you know. You're above all that sort of
thing. It's too trivial--"

"Oh, is it? You'll see. All New York will have the story in
twenty-four hours. Pretty sort of a tale to get to the Mission! The
Mission! If those people heard! Imagine the embroideries! I could
never lift my head down there again."

"Let the world go hang. Have you anything to be ashamed of, Una?"

"No."

"Nor I. Very well."

The seriousness that Una attached to the affair, while it bewildered,
also inflamed him. "I wish it had been a man who had talked to you the
way Marcia did."

Una turned toward him soberly.

"What would you do to him, Jerry?"

He smiled grimly. "I think I'd kill him," he said softly.

I think Jerry's tone must have comforted her, for he said that after
that Una grew quieter.

"The world is very intolerant of idyls, Jerry."

They had reached a road which overlooked the river. Long, cool shadows
brushed their faces as they rushed on from orchard to meadow, all
redolent of sweet odors.

"Why?"

"Because they're a reproach."

"Friendship is no idyl, Una, with us. It's more like reality, isn't
it?"

"I hope so."

"Don't you believe it?"

"Yes, I think I do."

He smiled at her gayly.

"I'm sure of it. I'm always myself with you, Una. I seem to want you
to know all the things I'm