es where they could most easily be reached.

It was only a question now of how long the guests would care to stay. As
a gathering the picnic was over. Some did not use the rugs and cushions
that had been provided for them, but strolled away into the woods. A
number of slightly intoxicated gentlemen felt it their duty to gather
about their host and entertain him. Two married couples brought candles
from the dinner-table and began a best two out of three at bridge.
Sometimes two men and one woman would sit together with their backs
against a log; but always after a few minutes one of the men would go
away "to get something" and would not return.

It was not wholly by accident that Mister Masters found himself alone
with little Miss Blythe. Emboldened by the gayety of the dinner, and
then by the wonder of the moon, he had had the courage to hurry to her
side; and though there his courage had failed utterly, his action had
been such as to deter others from joining her. So, for there was nothing
else to do, they found a thick rug and sat upon it, and leaned their
backs against a log.

Little Miss Blythe had not yet asked Mr. Blagdon to drive her home.
Though she had made up her mind to do so, it would only be at the last
possible moment of the twelfth hour. It was now that eleventh hour in
which heroines are rescued by bold lovers. But Mister Masters was no
bolder than a mouse. And the moon sailed higher and higher in the
heavens.

"Isn't it wonderful?" said little Miss Blythe.

"Wonderful!"

"Just smell it!"

"Umm."

Her sad, rather frightened eyes wandered over to the noisy group of
which Mr. Bob Blagdon was the grave and silent centre. He knew that
little Miss Blythe would keep her promise. He believed in his heart that
her decision would be favorable to him; but he was watching her where
she sat with Masters and knew that his belief in what she would decide
was not strong enough to make him altogether happy.

"_And_ he was old enough to be her father!" repeated the gentleman in
the Scotch deer-stalker who had been gossiping. Mr. Blagdon smiled, but
the words hurt--"old enough to be her father." "My God," he thought,
"_I_ am old enough--just!" But then he comforted himself with "Why not?
It's how old a man feels, not how old he is."

Then his eyes caught little Miss Blythe's, but she turned hers instantly
away.

"This will be the end of the season," she said.

Mister Masters assented. He wanted to tell her