The painter plays the spider and hath woven
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men.'"
His voice was low and soft, yet full and deep. Again her eyes drooped before his. One shapely white hand toyed with a loose bit of bark.
"You quote well," she said, compelling herself to speak calmly, almost carelessly. "You should be a teacher of elocution."
"The task would be agreeable indeed," he returned, "if I could choose my pupil."
"You speak in the singular."
"Which," he declared instantly, "is not at all singular, the situation considered. Had I my choice, I'd not seek a pupil beyond this little glade."
"Oh, if you were to pick one of my Sunday-*school class, I'm afraid you would not find the task particularly agreeable. Teaching elocution to Tommy or Jimmy or any of the others would be thankless work."
He smiled. "I'd not care to seek so far, yet I know it is presumptuous for me to fancy that I could teach you."
She flashed him a smile that went to his head like wine and made him long to imprison the dainty hand that was still toying with the bit of loose bark. There was a brief silence, broken
