, I _hate_ spiders! I'm afraid of them. Make it go
away! Please! There--now you've got it; throw it off the piazza,
quick! Don't bring it near me!"

"The little spider won't hurt you," said George enjoyingly.

Dosia, flushing and paling alternately, carried entirely out of her
deterring placidity, her blue eyes dilatingly raised to his, her red
lips quivering, was distractingly lovely. Fear gave to her quick,
uncalculated movements the grace of a wild thing. George, in spite of
his solid good qualities, possessed the mistaken playfulness of the
innately vulgar. He advanced, the spider now held between his thumb
and forefinger, a little nearer to her--a little nearer yet. There is
a type of bucolic mind to which the causeless, palpitating fear of a
woman is an exquisitely funny joke.

"Don't," said Dosia again, in a strangled voice, ready to fly from the
chair. The spider touched her sleeve, with George's fatuously smiling
face behind it. The next instant she had fled wildly down to the
screened corner of the veranda, with George after her, only to be
stopped by the screens at the end. His following arms closed tightly
around her as he kissed her in happy triumph.

After one wild, instinctive effort at struggle, Dosia stood perfectly
still, with that peculiarly defensive self-possession that came into
play at such times. She seemed to yield entirely now to the rightful
caresses of an accepted lover as she said in a perfectly even and
casual tone of voice:

"Let me go for a moment, George! I must get my handkerchief up-stairs.
I'll be right back again."

"Don't be gone long," said George fondly, releasing her
half-unconsciously at the accent of custom.

"No," said Dosia, very pale, and smiling back at him coquettishly as
she went off with unhurried step--to dart up two pairs of stairs like
a flying, hunted thing, and into her room, to lock the door fast and
bolt it as if from the thoughts that pursued her.

Lois, coming up the stairs half an hour later, rattled the door-knob
ineffectually before she knocked.

"Dosia, what's the matter? To whom are you talking? Let me in! Katy
said, when she came up, you would not answer. She said Mr. Sutton had
been walking up and down the piazza for a long time. Dosia, let me in;
let me in this minute!"

The key clicked in the lock, the bolt slipped back, and the door flew
open. Dosia, in her blue muslin frock, her hair in wild disorder, was
standing in the center of the roo