was dreamy weather, even for late spring: the scent of lilacs and mock-orange hung heavy as incense along the woods. Their voices unconsciously found the key to harmonize with it all.  

She said: "Well, I think I have succeeded. In a few moments she will be passing. I do not know her name; she rides a big roan. She is very beautiful, Mr. Gatewood."  

He said: "I am perfectly certain we shall find her. I doubted it until now. But now I know."  

"Oh-h, but I may be wrong," she protested.  

"No; you cannot be."  

She looked up at him.  

"You can have no idea how happy you make me," he said unsteadily.  

"But--I--but I may be all wrong--dreadfully wrong!"  

"Y-es; you may be, but I shall not be. For do you know that I have already seen her in the Park?"  

"When?" she demanded incredulously, then turned in the saddle, repeating: "Where? Did she pass? How perfectly stupid of me! And was she the--the right one?"  

"She is the right one. . . . Don't turn: I have seen her. Ride on: I want to say something--if I can."  

"No, no," she insisted. "I must know whether I was right--"  

"You are right--but you don't know it yet. . . . Oh, very well, then; we'll turn if you insist." And he wheeled his mount as she did, riding at her bridle again.  

"How can you take it so coolly--so indifferently?" she said. "Where has that woman--where has she gone? . . . Never mind; she must turn and pass us sooner or later, for she lives uptown. What are you laughing at, Mr. Gatewood?"--in annoyed surprise.  

"I am laughing at myself. Oh, I'm so many kinds of a fool--you can't think how many, and it's no use!"  

She stared, astonished; he shook his head.  

"No, you don't understand yet. But you will. Listen to me: this very beautiful lady you have discovered is nothing to me!"  

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