ould have rubbed a lamp and brought the
_Whim_ sailing to us over the sea of grass. Static existences only
prevail with static people, and there was too much surgingly dynamic
about this twenty year old girl to have encouraged it here. I say, too,
with candor that any man of twenty-six whose blood is red is--with the
great out-of-doors abetting--not insulated for or against currents.
Throw these two alone in a primitive world where their tent is the sky,
and a spark must eventually jump across the gradually lessening
distance. It is thus that wild things mate--and their mating is
incorruptible.

But now as my arms tightened and my face leaned to hers, she gave a half
fearful cry and sprang tremblingly back, pressing both hands to her
breast, breathing quickly and staring at me with wide eyes.

"Chancellor," she gasped, "this is madness, don't you know it?"

The quick alarm in her voice sobered me and I answered "Yes," for there
was nothing else to say. And a moment later when, in an even tone and at
a conventional distance, she suggested: "Shall we go on to the fort?" I
did not reply, but walked mutely at her side.

Our contact had been too instantaneous for me to collect myself at once,
and I wondered how she was managing to do so--or if she were bluffing.
For this sudden serene-mindedness she now displayed was quite too
enigmatic for my comprehension.

"We planted the memory that will be mine forever," I whispered, trying
to see her face which she kept partially hid by keeping half a step
ahead of me. "I'll never forget our----"

"Oh," she cried, on the verge of tears, I thought, "don't ever speak to
me of it again--ever!"

"It's nothing we ought to regret--it wasn't your fault," I
persisted,----

"That's just it--it was my fault, it was," she interrupted passionately,
and somehow her hand found mine and pressed it. Was there ever any one
more square? "I knew we were going to--do that, and I didn't try to stop
it. You'll think that I'm--I'm----"

"The most glorious girl who ever lived," I cried, taking full possession
of her hand now.

"Won't you please be honest?" she asked, quite seriously. "I am; and I
give you my word I'd never have done it if it hadn't seemed so real--I
mean, our planting the memory."

She turned then, and to my relief she was half smiling. For an instant
the longing to hold her again showed in my face, but she stopped me with
a look. This time it was done with the intention of stop