icted the somewhat meretricious smartness of her dress, but was
utterly inconsistent with the palpable artificial color of her hair,--an
obvious imitation of a certain popular fashion then known in artistic
circles as the "British Blonde,"--and began to ostentatiously resume a
pair of lemon-colored kid gloves. Having, as it were, thus indicated her
standing and respectability, and put an immeasurable distance between
herself and her bold interlocutor, she said impressively, "We
evidently made a mistake: I will rejoin our party, who will, of course,
apologize."

"What's your hurry?" said the imperturbable Rand, disengaging himself
from the rope, and walking towards her. "As long as you're up here, you
might stop a spell."

"I have no wish to intrude; that is, our party certainly has not,"
continued the young lady, pulling the tight gloves, and smoothing the
plump, almost bursting fingers, with an affectation of fashionable ease.

"Oh! I haven't any thing to do just now," said Rand, "and it's about
grub time, I reckon. Yes, I live here, Ruth and me,--right here."

The young woman glanced at the shaft.

"No, not down there," said Rand, following her eye, with a laugh. "Come
here, and I'll show you."

A strong desire to keep up an appearance of genteel reserve, and an
equally strong inclination to enjoy the adventurous company of this
good-looking, hearty young fellow, made her hesitate. Perhaps she
regretted having undertaken a role of such dignity at the beginning: she
could have been so perfectly natural with this perfectly natural man,
whereas any relaxation now might increase his familiarity. And yet she
was not without a vague suspicion that her dignity and her gloves
were alike thrown away on him,--a fact made the more evident when
Rand stepped to her side, and, without any apparent consciousness of
disrespect or gallantry, laid his large hand, half persuasively, half
fraternally, upon her shoulder, and said, "Oh, come along, do!"

The simple act either exceeded the limits of her forbearance, or decided
the course of her subsequent behavior. She instantly stepped back a
single pace, and drew her left foot slowly and deliberately after her;
then she fixed her eyes and uplifted eyebrows upon the daring hand,
and, taking it by the ends of her thumb and forefinger, lifted it, and
dropped it in mid-air. She then folded her arms. It was the indignant
gesture with which "Alice," the Pride of Dumballin Village, receiv