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      "What's wrong, Condy—what's the matter?" asked Travis, with concern.

      For some time he would not tell her, answering all her inquiries by closing his eyes and putting his chin in the air, nodding his head in knowing fashion.

      "But what is it?"

      "You don't respect me," he muttered; and for a long time this was all that could be got from him. No, no, she did not respect him; no, she did not take him seriously.

      "But of course I do. Why don't I? Condy Rivers, what's got into you NOW?"

      "No, no; I know it. I can tell. You don't take me seriously. You don't respect me."

      "But why?"

      "Make a blooming buffoon of myself," he mumbled tragically.

      In great distress Travis labored to contradict him. Why, they had just been having a good time, that was all. Why, she had been just as silly as he. Condy caught at the word.

      "Silly! There. I knew it. I told you. I'm silly. I'm a buffoon.—But haven't we had a great afternoon?" he added, with a sudden grin.

      "I never remember," announced Travis emphatically, "when I've had a better time than I've had to-day; and I know just why it's been such a success."

      "Why, then?"

      "Because we've had no foolishness. We've just been ourselves, and haven't pretended we were in love with each other when we are not. Condy, let's do this lots."

      "Do what?"

      "Go round to queer little, interesting little places. We've had a glorious time to-day, haven't we?—and we haven't been talked out once.

      "As we were last night, for instance," he hazarded.

      "I THOUGHT you felt it, the same as I did. It WAS a bit awful wasn't it?"

      "It was."

      "From now on, let's make a resolution. I know you've had a good time to-day. Haven't you had a better time than if you had gone to the Tea?'"