ter of the nineteenth century took refuge in
an armour of flippancy, which is the best shield yet invented for
resisting Cupid's darts.

It was a glorious afternoon--one of those afternoons which advertise to
all the world how excellent was the lotus-eaters' method of dividing
time; and although the woods had exchanged the fresh variety of spring
for the dark green sameness of summer, the fields were gay with
haymakers, and the world still seemed full of joyous and abundant life.

"Let's go the country way," Elisabeth had said at starting; "and then we
can come back by the town." So the two drove by Badgering Woods, and
across the wide common; and as they went they saw and felt that the
world was very good. Elisabeth was highly sensitive to the influences
of nature, and, left to herself, would have leaned toward sentiment on
such an afternoon as this; but she had seen that look in Alan's eyes,
and that was enough for her.

"Do you know," began Tremaine, getting to work, "that I have been doing
nothing lately but thinking about you? And I have come to the conclusion
that what appeals so much to me is your strength. The sweetness which
attracts some men has no charm for me; I am one of the men who above all
things admire and reverence a strong woman, though I know that the sweet
and clinging woman is to some the ideal of feminine perfection. But
different men, of course, admire different types."

"Exactly; there is a Latin proverb, something about tots and sentences,
which embodies that idea," suggested Elisabeth, with a nervous, girlish
laugh.

Alan did not smile; he made it a rule never to encourage flippancy in
women.

"It is hardly kind of you to laugh at me when I am speaking seriously,"
he said, "and it would serve you right if I turned my horse's head round
and refused to let you hear your Bishop. But I will not punish you this
time; I will heap coals of fire on your head by driving on."

"Oh! don't begin heaping coals of fire on people's head, Mr. Tremaine;
it is a dangerous habit, and those who indulge in it always get their
fingers burned in the end--just as they do when they play with edged
tools, or do something (I forget what) with their own petard."

There was a moment's silence, and then Alan said--

"It makes me very unhappy when you are in a mood like this; I do not
understand it, and it seems to raise up an impassable barrier between
us."

"Please don't be unhappy about a little thing like th