rds, the chatter of red squirrels, and the
scent of wild honeysuckle. And as we moved onward we talked--that is,
she did most of the talking and I listened. Yet I must have talked more
than I knew, because I remember expressing opinions concerning books
and operas and pictures, subjects I had not discussed for years except
occasionally with Mother, and then only because she was still interested
in them. I seemed, somehow, to have become a different, a younger man,
under the influence of these few hours with the girl I had professed to
hate so cordially. Our companionship--perfectly meaningless as it was,
the mere caprice of an idle day on her part--had rejuvenated me. During
that homeward walk I forgot myself entirely, forgot that I was Ros
Paine, the country loafer; forgot, too, that she was the only child of
the city millionaire, that we had, or could have, nothing in common.
She, also, seemed to forget, and we chatted together as unconsciously
and easily as if we had known each other all our lives.

Yet it may be that her part in the conversation was not altogether
without a purpose. She led me to speak of Denboro and its people, of how
they lived, and of the old days of sailing ships and deep sea skippers.
George Taylor's name was mentioned and I praised him highly, telling of
his rise from poor boy to successful man, as we rated success locally.

"He manages that bank well," I declared. "Everyone says so. And, from
what I have seen of his management, I know it to be true."

"How do you know?" she asked.

"Because I have had some experience in banking myself. I--"

I stopped short. My tongue was running away with me. She did not ask the
question which I dreaded and expected. Instead she said, looking down at
me:

"You are a loyal friend, aren't you, Mr. Paine."

"I have reason to be loyal to George," I answered, with feeling.

"Are you as loyal to yourself?"

I looked up at her in surprise.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I have been trying to understand you, Mr. Paine. Trying to get the
answer to the puzzle. In one way I think I have it. I understand your
attitude in the Lane affair and I think I know why you came to Denboro
and are staying here."

I stopped short. "You--you know THAT?" I cried.

"I think I do. You believe that your mother needs you and you will not
leave her. That is your reason for living here, I think. But, in another
way, I cannot understand you at all."

She spoke to the horse