gerous way
of listening as if she were saying something that he had longed all his
life to hear.

"Is this Rilla-my-Rilla?" he asked in a low tone.

"Yeth," said Rilla, and immediately wished she could throw herself
headlong down the lighthouse rock or otherwise vanish from a jeering
world.

Rilla had lisped in early childhood; but she had grown out of it. Only
on occasions of stress and strain did the tendency re-assert itself.
She hadn't lisped for a year; and now at this very moment, when she was
so especially desirous of appearing grown up and sophisticated, she
must go and lisp like a baby! It was too mortifying; she felt as if
tears were going to come into her eyes; the next minute she would
be--blubbering--yes, just blubbering--she wished Kenneth would go
away--she wished he had never come. The party was spoiled. Everything
had turned to dust and ashes.

And he had called her "Rilla-my-Rilla"--not "Spider" or "Kid" or
"Puss," as he had been used to call her when he took any notice
whatever of her. She did not at all resent his using Walter's pet name
for her; it sounded beautifully in his low caressing tones, with just
the faintest suggestion of emphasis on the "my." It would have been so
nice if she had not made a fool of herself. She dared not look up lest
she should see laughter in his eyes. So she looked down; and as her
lashes were very long and dark and her lids very thick and creamy, the
effect was quite charming and provocative, and Kenneth reflected that
Rilla Blythe was going to be the beauty of the Ingleside girls after
all. He wanted to make her look up--to catch again that little, demure,
questioning glance. She was the prettiest thing at the party, there was
no doubt of that.

What was he saying? Rilla could hardly believe her ears.

"Can we have a dance?"

"Yes," said Rilla. She said it with such a fierce determination not to
lisp that she fairly blurted the word out. Then she writhed in spirit
again. It sounded so bold--so eager--as if she were fairly jumping at
him! What would he think of her? Oh, why did dreadful things like this
happen, just when a girl wanted to appear at her best?

Kenneth drew her in among the dancers.

"I think this game ankle of mine is good for one hop around, at least,"
he said.

"How is your ankle?" said Rilla. Oh, why couldn't she think of
something else to say? She knew he was sick of inquiries about his
ankle. She had heard him say so at Ingleside--hear