Gordon Collis pottered about in a neighbouring thicket; the fox terrier was chasing chipmunks.  As for Neville he had already sauntered out of sight among the trees.

Stephanie, seated on a dry and mossy stump, preoccupied with her own ruminations, looked up absently as Cameron came up to her bearing floral offerings.

“Thank you, Sandy,” she said, as he handed her a cluster of wild blossoms.  Then, fastening them to her waist, she glanced up mischieviously: 

“How funny you are!  You look and act like a little boy at a party presenting his first offering to the eternal feminine.”

“It’s my first offering,” he said coolly.

“Oh, Sandy!  With your devilish record!”

“Do you know,” he said, “that I’m thirty-two years old?  And that you are twenty-two?  And that since you were twelve and I was twenty odd I’ve been in love with you?”

She looked at him in blank dismay for a moment, then forced a laugh: 

“Of course I know it, Sandy.  It’s the kind of love a girl cares most about—­”

“It’s really love,” said Cameron, un-smiling—­“the kind I’m afraid she doesn’t care very much about.”

[Illustration:  “’If you’ll place a lump of sugar on my nose, and say “when,” I’ll perform.’”]

She hesitated, then met his gaze with a distressed smile: 

“You don’t really mean that, Sandy—­”

“I’ve meant it for ten years....  But it doesn’t matter—­”

“Sandy!...  It does matter—­if—­”

“No, it doesn’t....  Come on and kick these leaves about and we’ll make a million dollars in ginseng!”

But she remained seated, mute, her gaze a sorrowful interrogation which at length he could not pretend to ignore: 

“Stephanie child, don’t worry.  I’m not worrying.  I’m glad I told you....  Now just let me go on as I’ve always gone—­”

“How can we?”

“Easily.  Shut your eyes, breathe deeply, lifting both arms and lowering them while counting ten in German—­”

“Sandy, don’t be so foolish at—­such a time.”

“Such a time?  What time is it?” pretending to consult his watch with great anxiety.  Then a quick smile of relief spread over his features:  “It’s all right, Stephanie; it’s my hour to be foolish.  If you’ll place a lump of sugar on my nose, and say ‘when,’ I’ll perform.”

There was no answering smile on her face.

“It’s curious,” she said, “how a girl can make a muddle of life without even trying.”

“But just think what you might have done if you’d tried!  You’ve much to be thankful for,” he said gravely.

She raised her eyes, considering him: 

“I wonder,” she said, under her breath.

“Sure thing, Stephanie.  You might have done worse; you might have married me.  Throw away those flowers—­there’s a good girl—­and forget what they meant.”

Slowly, deliberately, blossom by blossom she drew them from her girdle and laid them on the moss beside her.