Mr. Langham only stopped because he was out of breath. His face was red and shining. He mopped his brow with his handkerchief.

Mary was almost perfectly happy. She loved to hear Langham run on and on. His voice was so pleasant, and his face beamed so with kindness. And from many things which he had from time to time let slip she was convinced that she needn't be an old maid unless she wanted to be. And so to climb a little hill with him, to sit in the sun, and to admire the view was really an exciting venture. For she never knew what he was going to let slip next. And equally exciting was the fact that if that slip should be in the nature of a leading question, she could only guess what her answer would be.

When a man is offered something that he very much wants—a trifling loan, for instance—his first instinct is to deny the need. And a girl, when the man she wants offers himself, usually refuses at the first time of asking. And some, especially rich in girl nature, which is experience of human nature and somewhat short of divine, will persist in refusing even unto the twentieth and thirtieth time.

Mary Darling was in a deep reverie. From this, his eyes twinkling behind their thick glasses, Mr. Langham roused her with the brisk utterance of one of his favorite quotations:

"'General Blank's compliments,'" said he, "'and he reports that the colored troops are turning black in the face.'"

Mary smiled her friendliest smile.

"I was wondering," she said, "what had become of Lee and Renier."

"I have noted," said Mr. Langham, "that she always calls him by his last name, sometimes with the prefix you—'You Renier' put like that. And I was wondering if he ever turns the trick on her."

"Why should he?" asked Mary innocently.

"You have forgotten," said he, "that her last name is Darling." His eyes twinkled with amazing and playful boldness. "You're all Darlings," he exclaimed, "and"—a note of self-pity in his voice—"I'm just a fat old stuff!"

"That," said Mary primly, "is perfectly correct, but for three trifling errors—you're not fat, you're not old, and you're not a stuff!"

If she had told him that he was handsome as Apollo he could not have been more pleased.

And so their adventure progressed in the pleasant sunlight that warmed the top of the little hill. No very exciting adventure, you say? And of a shilly-shallying and even snail-like motion?

Oh, you can't be always riding to rescues, and falling over cliffs, and escaping from burning houses.

At that moment, by the purest accident, the tip of Mr. Langham's right forefinger just brushed against Mary's sleeve. And there went through him from head to foot a great thrill, as if trumpets had suddenly sounded.

"I suppose," said Mary, after a little while, "that we ought to be going."

"But I'd rather sit here than eat," said Mr. Langham.