which made him fairly warlike. However, the clock striking
four aroused both of them.

"I think it is very funny that they have not come home," said Sylvia.

"I dare say they will be along pretty soon," said Henry.

Sylvia looked keenly at him. "Henry Whitman, did he go to the
Ayres's?" said she.

Henry, cornered, told the truth. "Well, I shouldn't wonder," he
admitted.

"I think it is pretty work," said Sylvia, angry red spots coming in
her cheeks.

Henry said nothing.

"The idea that a young man can't be in the house with a girl any
longer than this without his fairly chasing her," said Sylvia.

"Who knows that he is?"

"Do you think he is interested in the Ayres girl?"

"No, I don't."

"Then it is Rose," said Sylvia. "Pretty work, I call it. Here she is
with her own folks in this nice home, with everything she needs."

Henry looked at Sylvia with astonishment. "Why," he said, "girls get
married! You got married yourself."

"I know I did," said Sylvia, "but that hasn't got anything to do with
it. Of course he has to chase her the minute she comes within
gunshot."

"Still, there's one thing certain, if she doesn't want him he can
take it out in chasing, if he is chasing, and I don't think he is,"
said Henry. "Nobody is going to make Rose marry any man."

"She don't act a mite in love with him," said Sylvia, ruminatingly.
"She seemed real mad with him this noon about that candy. Henry, that
was a funny thing for him to do."

"What?" asked Henry, who had so far only gotten Rose's rather vague
account of the candy episode.

Sylvia explained. "He actually knocked that candy out of her hand,
and made her spill the whole box, and then trampled on it. I saw him."

Henry stared at Sylvia. "It must have been an accident," said he.

"It looked like an accident on purpose," said Sylvia. "Well, I guess
I'll go out and make some of that salad they like so much for supper."

After Sylvia had gone Henry sat for a while reflecting, then he went
noiselessly out of the front door and round to the grove. He found
the scattered pieces of candy and the broken box quickly enough. He
cast a wary glance around, and gathered the whole mass up and thrust
it into the pocket of his Sunday coat. Then he stole back to the
house and got his hat and went out again. He was hurrying along the
road, when he met Horace and Rose returning. Rose was talking,
seemingly, with a cold earnestness to her companion. Horace seemed to
b