d
stopped at the garden gate. Marietta came out. Marietta was twenty-two
years old, and as gay and joyous as her elder sister Angela was sober
and in a way morbid. Light souled as a kitten, looking always on the
bright side of things, she made hosts of friends everywhere she went,
having a perfect swarm of lovers who wrote her eager notes, but whom she
rebuffed with good natured, sympathetic simplicity. Here on this farm
there was not supposed to be so much opportunity for social life as in
town, but beaux made their way here on one pretext and another. Marietta
was the magnet, and in the world of gaiety which she created Angela
shared.

Angela was now in the dining room--easy to be called--but Marietta
wanted to see for herself what sort of lover her sister had captured.
She was surprised at his height, his presence, the keenness of his eyes.
She hardly understood so fine a lover for her own sister, but held out
her hand smilingly.

"This is Mr. Witla, isn't it?" she asked.

"The same," he replied, a little pompously. "Isn't it a lovely drive
over here?"

"We think it nice in nice weather," she laughed. "You wouldn't like it
so much in winter. Won't you come in and put your grip here in the hall?
David will take it to your room."

Eugene obeyed, but he was thinking of Angela and when she would appear
and how she would look. He stepped into the large, low ceiled, dark,
cool parlor and was delighted to see a piano and some music piled on a
rack. Through an open window he saw several hammocks out on the main
lawn, under the trees. It seemed a wonderful place to him, the substance
of poetry--and then Angela appeared. She was dressed in plain white
linen. Her hair, braided as he liked it in a great rope, lay as a band
across her forehead. She had picked a big pink rose and put it in her
waist. At sight of her Eugene held out his arms and she flew to them. He
kissed her vigorously, for Marietta had discreetly retired and they were
left alone.

"So I have you at last," he whispered, and kissed her again.

"Oh, yes, yes, and it has been so long," she sighed.

"You couldn't have suffered any more than I have," he consoled. "Every
minute has been torture, waiting, waiting, waiting!"

"Let's not think of that now," she urged. "We have each other. You are
here."

"Yes, here I am," he laughed, "all the virtues done up in one brown
suit. Isn't it lovely--these great trees, that beautiful lawn?"

He paused from kissing