egged
on the ground, began to play. He played "Annie Laurie," and a woman's
voice, her head a black outline against the west, sang the words. Then
there was a clamor of applause, sounding thin and futile in the
evening's suave quietness, and the player began a Scotch reel in the
production of which the accordion uttered asthmatic gasps as though
unable to keep up with its own proud pace. The tune was sufficiently
good to inspire a couple of dancers. The young girl called Lucy rose
with a partner--her brother-in-law some one told Susan--and facing one
another, hand on hip, heads high, they began to foot it lightly over
the blackening grass.

Seen thus Lucy was handsome, a tall, long-limbed sapling of a girl,
with a flaming crest of copper-colored hair and movements as lithe and
supple as a cat's. She danced buoyantly, without losing breath,
advancing and retreating with mincing steps, her face grave as though
the performance had its own dignity and was not to be taken lightly.
Her partner, a tanned and long-haired man, took his part in a livelier
spirit, laughing at her, bending his body grotesquely and growing red
with his caperings. Meanwhile from the tent door the wife looked on
and Susan heard her say to the doctor with whom she had been conferring:

"And when will it be my turn to dance the reel again? There wasn't a
girl in the town could dance it with me."

Her voice was weighted with the wistfulness of the woman whose endless
patience battles with her unwillingness to be laid by.

Susan saw David's fingers feeling in the grass for her hand. She gave
it, felt the hard stress of his grip, and conquered her desire to draw
the hand away. All her coquetry was gone. She was cold and subdued.
The passionate hunger of his gaze made her feel uncomfortable. She
endured it for a space and then said with an edge of irritation on her
voice:

"What are you staring at me for? Is there something on my face?"

He breathed in a roughened voice:

"No, I love you."

Her discomfort increased. Tumult and coldness make uncongenial
neighbors. The man, all passion, and the woman, who has no answering
spark, grope toward each other through devious and unillumined ways.

He whispered again:

"I love you so. You don't understand."

She did not and looked at him inquiringly, hoping to learn something
from his face. His eyes, meeting hers, were full of tears. It
surprised her so that she stared speechlessly at h