sterday. . . . I--wanted to
go to New York with the doctor and be made all sound and well again
b-before--before I let you love me----"

"Oh, Diana--Diana!" he whispered, with his arms around her. "Oh,
Diana--Diana--my little girl Diana!"

Which was silly enough, she being six feet--almost as tall as he.

"Turn your back," she whispered. "I want to go to my desk--and I can't
bear to have you see me walk."

"You darling----"

"No, no, no! Please let them cure me first. . . . Turn your back."

He kissed her hands, held her at arm's length a second, then turned on
his heel and stood motionless.

He heard her move almost noiselessly away; heard a desk open and close;
heard the chair by the window move as she seated herself.

"Come here," she said in a curious, choked voice.

He turned, went swiftly to her side.

"Great heavens!" he said. "When did you bake that cake?"

"Y-yesterday."

"Why?"

"B-because I was going away to New York and would never perhaps see you
again unless I was entirely cured. And I meant to leave this for you--so
you would know that I had followed you even here--so you would know I had
made a plucky try at you--through all these months--"

"You--you corker!"

"D-do you really mean it?"

"Mean it! I tell you, Diana, you women put it all over the lords of
creation--or any lord ever created! Mean it! You bet I do, sweetness!
I'll take back everything I ever said about women. They're _the_ real
thing in the world! And the best thing for the world is to let them run
it!"

"But--dear----" she faltered, lifting her beautiful eyes to him, "if men
are going to feel _that_ way about it, we won't want to run anything at
all. . . . It was only because you wouldn't let us that we wanted to."

He said in impassioned tones:

"Let the bally world run itself, Diana. What do we care--you and I?"

"No," she said, "we don't care now."

Then that rash and infatuated young man, losing his head entirely, drew
from his jeans a large jack-knife, and, before she could prevent him, he
had sliced off an enormous hunk of plum cake heavily frosted with his own
words.

"Don't, dear!" she begged him. "I couldn't ask _that_ of you----"

"I will!" he said, and bit into it.

"Don't!" she begged him; "please don't! I haven't had much experience
with pastry. It may give you dreadful dreams!"

"Let it!" he said. "What do I care for dreams while you remain real!
Diana--Diana--huntress of bigger game than eve