head like a startled
fawn. What did he mean? All that was feminine in her was up in arms, nor
did she lay them down in surrender at his last phrase, spoken with such
an unflattering air of commonplace.

Suddenly she startled Peter with a rippling laugh which made him sit up
blinking at her. "Are you apologizin' for not makin' love to me?" she
questioned impertinently. "Say--that's funny." And she went off into
another disconcerting peal of laughter.

But it wasn't funny for Peter, who was now made aware that she had
turned his mind inside out upon the table between them, so to speak,
that she might throw dust in the wheels. And so he only gasped and
stared at her--startlingly convinced that in matters of sentiment the
cleverest man is no match for even the dullest woman and Beth could
hardly be considered in this category. At the challenge of his half
expressed thought the demureness and sobriety of the lesson hour had
fallen from her like a doffed cloak.

Peter protested blandly.

"You don't understand what----"

But she broke in swiftly. "Maybe you were afraid I might be fallin' in
love with _you_," she twitted him, and burst into laughter again.

"I--I had no such expectation," said Peter, stiffening, sure that his
dignity was a poor thing.

"Or maybe----," she went on joyfully, "maybe you were afraid _you_ might
be fallin' in love with _me_." And then as she rose and gathered up her
music, tantalizingly, "What _did_ you mean, Mr. Nichols?"

He saw that he was losing ground with every word she uttered, but his
sense of humor conquered.

"You little pixie!" he cried, dashing for her, with a laugh. "Where have
you hidden this streak of impudence all these weeks?" But she eluded
him nimbly, running around the table and out of the door before he could
catch up with her.

He halted at the doorsill and called to her. She emerged cautiously from
behind a bush and made a face at him.

"Beth! Come back!" he entreated. "I've got something to say to you."

"What?" she asked, temporizing.

"I want to talk to you--seriously."

"Good Lord--seriously! You're not goin' to--to take the risk of--of
havin' me 'vamp' you, are you?"

"Yes. I'll risk that," he grinned.

But she only broke off a leaf and nibbled at it contemplatively. "Maybe
_I_ won't risk it. 'I don't want to spoil a single hour,'" she repeated,
mocking his dignity, 'by any thought of yours or mine that would lead us
away from the music.' Maybe _I'm_