sycamore, outlined so softly, with its budding leaves, against
the green hill and the changeable blue of the sky. The long walk was
almost deserted. A fountain played gently at the end of the slope; a few
coloured nurses were dozing on a bench, while their be-ribboned charges
scattered peanuts before a fluttering crowd of sparrows, pigeons, and
squirrels; and, leaning on a rude crutch, a lame old negro woman was
dragging a basket of brushwood to the brow of the hill. The scene was
very peaceful, wrapped in that languorous stillness which is the
pervading charm of the South; and beyond the high spikes of the iron
fence, the noise of passing street cars sounded far off and unreal.

She was still standing there, with her dreamy eyes on the old negress
toiling up the hill with her basket of brushwood, when a man passed the
fountain hurriedly, and came with a brisk, springy stride up the brick
walk below the library. As she watched him, at first without
recognition, she thought vaguely that his rugged figure made a picture
of embodied activity, of physical energy and enjoyment. The next minute
he reached the old negress, glanced at her casually in passing, and
turning abruptly round, lifted the basket, and carried it to the top of
the hill. Then, as he looked back at the old woman, who limped after
him, he laughed with boyish merriment, and Corinna saw in amazement that
the man was Gideon Vetch.

"He is obliged to be theatrical," remarked a voice behind her, and
glancing over her shoulder she saw that she had been joined by a
severe-looking young woman with several books under her arm.

"Is it that?" asked Corinna doubtfully, and she added to herself after a
moment, "I wonder?"

A little later, as she was leaving the Square, Stephen overtook her, and
she told him of the incident. "The Governor is always breaking out like
an epidemic where you least expect him," she concluded with a smile.

"I know. I've caught him." Though the young man's eyes reflected her
smile, his tone was serious. "I can't rid myself of the fellow."

"Have you been to see him this morning?"

He laughed. "I should say not! But I've been in a worse fix. I've just
walked up the street with--well, imagine it!--that bounder Gershom."

"So you both haunt the Square?"

At the question Stephen turned and faced her frankly. "How, in Heaven's
name, does she stand him?"

"That's a riddle. To me he is impossible."

"He is more than that. He is unspeaka