"Yes—until you are within easy range of the railway."

"Mr. Armathwaite, I'm perfectly well able to take care of myself."

"I'm sure of it, Meg. But a cousin should be cousinly. Our relationship will not be close. Say, a distance of two hundred yards."

He smiled into her eyes; his stern face softened wonderfully when he smiled.

"I couldn't think of permitting it," she pouted, eyeing him with a new interest.

He sat back on his heels, and affected a resigned attitude.

"Let's argue the point for two hours," he said. "I can't go fishing, because I shall be trespassing until I have acquired some rights. Moreover, nothing short of violence will stop me from escorting you over the moor. In this weather, moors contain tramps."

"I know. I met two yesterday."

"Did they speak to you?"

"One did. I didn't mind him. The second one turned and looked. I was ready to run, but he only stared."

"May I ask what costume you intend wearing for to-day's outing?"

"I haven't quite decided. It may be a blue Shantung or a white piqué, but it won't be gray flannel, if that's what you're hinting at."

He rose, and felt in his pockets.

"I think we can get through those two hours comfortably. May I smoke?" he said.

"Yes, please do. Then you won't be so grumpy. Walk twenty-eight miles on my account! The idea!"

"I've walked forty before to-day, and stood a very reasonable chance of being potted every inch of the way. You won't fire at me, at any rate, so twenty-eight is a mere stroll. In fact, if you are gracious, it can be a pleasant one, too."

"Potted! Were you in the army?"

"No. Soldiers like that sort of thing! I didn't so I gave it up. Sure you don't mind a pipe?"

"I love it. I often fill and light dad's for him when he's busy. You ought to see him when he's tracking some Norse legend to its lair, or clearing up a point left doubtful by Frazer in the 

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