touched a spot just beyond the edge of her gown.
"But, for custom's sake, I'll find a chair. We are not Turks, you see."

He strode away quite out of sight, but after some time returned,
dragging an arm chair over the tiling. In his other hand he gingerly
held a quaint little Indian basket, gaily stained, and inwoven with
sweet-scented grass. It was heaped with great yellow peaches, each with
a crimson cheek, while, flung carelessly among them, were clusters of
grapes in their perfection, purple-blue and whitish-green, promising
rare sweetness and flavor.

"They were the best I could find, but scarcely good enough for you," he
remarked deprecatingly, as he placed the basket in her hand.

"Oh, beautiful! What delicious fruit! And where did you ever find such a
pretty, fragrant basket?"

"Have you never noticed the old squaw, who sits mutely amid her wares
near the traffic gate? She declared this her choicest creation, her
masterpiece, indeed. I am so glad you admire it!"

"The whole thing is lovely. It makes me hungry to look at this fruit,
and yet it seems too pretty, just as it is, to spoil by dipping into
it."

He laughed and, selecting the largest peach of all, began to pare it
with his own pocket-knife, making a plate and napkin of his newspaper.
With careful slowness he pared and stoned and quartered it, then handed
her the segments on a bit of the paper torn from a clean spot.

"Such immense pains!" she laughed, as she received the offering.

"It is very little I can do for you," he murmured in return, and looked
off through the window, though nothing but an expanse of unlighted brick
wall could be found beyond.

Joyce did not answer. She ate her fruit slowly, as if luxuriating in its
taste. Presently she looked up.

"And won't you eat any of my peaches?" she asked archly, with a
lingering emphasis on the "my."

"Indeed I will!" reaching with eager haste for the one she offered.

She had selected the finest one left and, as his fingers touched it, she
clung to it an instant.

"So you _will_ take a peach from me?" she said, with an odd expression;
"Especially after being the one to secure it to me."

"Oh yes, with pleasure."

"I'm glad your pride has limits," laughing and flushing a little. "Some
people are proud over everything."

"I am proud over seeing you enjoy my little gift."

"And I am proud over being the recipient of your gift, which strikes me
as not being so 'little' as you seem to t