urse, I'll stay," she said. "I'd love to, if you want me to."

"I want you to more than I've ever wanted anything that I can remember."
His tone was so matter-of-fact that Daphne thought that she must have
imagined the words. "Now, can't we make ourselves comfortable for a
little while? I'd feel safer if you weren't standing there ready for
instant flight! Here's a nice bit of grass--and the wall for a back--"

Daphne glanced anxiously at the green muslin frock. "It's--it's pretty
hard to be comfortable without cushions," she submitted diffidently.

The man yielded again to laughter. "Are even Dryads afraid to spoil
their frocks? Cushions it shall be. There are some extra ones in the
chest in the East Indian room, aren't there?"

Daphne let the basket slip through her fingers, her eyes black through
sheer surprise.

"But how did you know--how did you know about the lacquer chest?" she
whispered breathlessly.

"'Oh, devil take me for a blundering ass!" He stood considering her
forlornly for a moment, and then shrugged his shoulders, with the
brilliant and disarming smile. "The game's up, thanks to my inspired
lunacy! But I'm going to trust you not to say that you've seen me. I
know about the lacquer chest because I always kept my marbles there."

"Are you--are you Stephen Fane?"

At the awed whisper the man bowed low, all mocking grace, his hand on
his heart--the sun burnishing his tawny head.

"Oh-h!" breathed Daphne. She bent to pick up the wicker basket, her
small face white and hard.

"Wait!" said Stephen Fane. His face was white and hard too. "You are
right to go--entirely, absolutely right--but I am going to beg you to
stay. I don't know what you've heard about me--however vile it is, it's
less than the truth--"

"I have heard nothing of you," said Daphne, holding her gold-wreathed
head high, "but five years ago I was not allowed to come to Green
Gardens for weeks because I mentioned your name. I was told that it was
not a name to pass decent lips."

Something terrible leaped in those burned-out eyes--and died.

"I had not thought they would use their hate to lash a child," he said.
"They were quite right--and you, too. Good night."

"Good night," replied Daphne clearly. She started down the path, but at
its bend she turned to look back--because she was seventeen, and it was
June, and she remembered his laughter. He was standing quite still by
the golden straw beehive, but he had thrown one arm acro