“Am I to infer that you expect to recover me after this?”

And, as he made no answer:  “You dare not admit that you hope to see me again.  You are horribly afraid of me—­even if I have defied convention and your opinions and have graciously overlooked your impertinence.  In spite of all this you are still afraid of me.  Are you?”

“Yes,” he said; “as much as I naturally ought to be.”

“That is nice of you.  There’s only one kind of a girl of whom men are really afraid....  And now I don’t exactly know what to do about you—­being, myself, as guilty and horrid as you have been.”

She regarded him contemplatively, her hands joined behind her back.

“Exactly what to do about you I don’t know,” she repeated, leisurely inspecting him.  “Shall I tell you something?  I am not afraid to; I am not a bit cowardly about it either.  Shall I?”

“If you dare,” he said, smiling and uncertain.

“Very well, then; I rather like you, Mr. Hamil.”

“You are a trump!” he blurted out, reddening with surprise.

“Are you astonished that I know you?”

“I don’t see how you found out—­”

“Found out!  What perfectly revolting vanity!  Do you suppose that the moment I left you I rushed home and began to make happy and incoherent inquiries?  Mr. Hamil, you disappoint me every time you speak—­and also every time you don’t.”

“I seem to be doomed.”

“You are.  You can’t help it.  Tell me—­as inoffensively as possible—­are you here to begin your work?”

“M-my work?”

“Yes, on the Cardross estate—­”

“You have heard of that!” he exclaimed, surprised.

“Y-es—­” negligently.  “Petty gossip circulates here.  A cracker at West Palm Beach built a new chicken coop, and we all heard of it.  Tell me, do you still desire to see me again?”

“I do—­to pay a revengeful debt or two.”

“Oh!  I have offended you?  Pay me now, if you please, and let us end this indiscretion.”

“You will let me see you again, won’t you?”

“Why?  Mr. Hamil.”

“Because I—­I must!”

“Oh!  You are becoming emphatic.  So I am going....  And I’ve half a mind to take you back and present you to my family....  Only it wouldn’t do for me; any other girl perhaps might dare—­under the circumstances; but I can’t—­and that’s all I’ll tell you.”

Hamil, standing straight and tall, straw hat tucked under one arm, bent toward her with the formality and engaging deference natural to him.

“You have been very merciful to me; only a girl of your caste could afford to.  Will you forgive my speaking to you as I did?—­when I said ‘Calypso!’ I have no excuse; I don’t know why I did.  I’m even sorrier for myself than for you.”

“I was hurt....  Then I supposed that you did not mean it.  Besides”—­she looked up with her rare smile—­“I knew you, Mr. Hamil, in the boat this morning.  I haven’t really been very dreadful.”