, Miss McAlister?"

She looked up from her book rather ungraciously.

"Yes, it's very fine."

"How does it happen you are not at the golf links?"

"There's a tournament, to-day."

"And you didn't enter?"

"No; they didn't play well enough to make it worth my while."

Deliberately he settled himself at her side.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked. "That book looked rather indigestible for
an August day."

"I prefer it. I can't spend my time over novels," Phebe said.

The strong wind had ruffled her bright hair and deepened the pink in her
cheeks. The young man looked at her admiringly. Up to this time, he had
only seen her in her short blue suit, and he told himself that this
fluffy pink muslin gown was vastly more becoming to her.

"Don't you ever do frivolous things?" he asked in some amusement.

"No. What's the use?"

"There's going to be a dance, next week."

"Is there?" Phebe's tone betrayed no interest in the tidings.

"Yes. I came down to see if I could induce you to go with me."

"I hate dancing in August," she said flatly.

"I'm sorry. Besides, one must do something down here."

"One can, if one wants to. I don't. There's no sense in coming to this
kind of a place, just to put on one's best clothes and dance all night in
a stuffy room."

"You might take Lear's method," he suggested;

"'And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon.'"

For one instant, Phebe relaxed her severity.

"Do you like Lear, too?" she asked.

"Of course. What sensible person doesn't?" He stretched himself out at
full length, resting his head on his hand, and, for the moment, Phebe, as
she looked at him, felt that he was almost handsome enough to atone for
his lack of energy. "But you haven't accepted my invitation," he added
persuasively.

"I know it."

"Please do."

"What for? I told you I don't like hops in August."

"But I can't hop alone."

"Ask somebody else, then."

"Don't want to. Well, I'll consider it an engagement."

"Why don't you play golf?" Phebe demanded.

"Too energetic for me. I want something more restful."

His languid tone annoyed Phebe, and she dropped her indifferent manner.

"Mr. Barrett, did it ever occur to you that you were lazy?"

He flushed.

"No; it hadn't occurred to me in that light before. Am I?"

"Very."

He sat up.

"I am sorry. Miss McAlister, had it ever occurred to you that you are
outspoken?"

"I don't care if I am."