remember? The day you were coming from town and found me under the oak? It was that same tree, and you were beating your way up the road against the wind. Your hair was blown straight back from your face so that it gave you a different look, and your cheeks were red, and there was a red scarf like a banner!"
"And when you saw me, you ran and got in the shelter of the tree with me. You were out of breath and beautiful—! And in that moment I knew that you were mine forever. Am I claiming too much? Well, we'll let it go at that. I shall claim all I can get, Hildegarde, even while I'm sure that I don't deserve half of it.
"And now, when are you going to write to me? When you have read this? Why not? I shall be waiting, and watching every mail."
She laid the letter down. Crispin under the old oak? Of course she remembered. She could see him now as he had stood there—strong and young and laughing.
She had laughed a great deal in the past three weeks. Bob Gresham was very funny. He said comic things with such a solemn face and only the flick of an eye towards you to see how you were taking it.
Yet when Bob was not with her, she forgot him. He was no more interesting than a lot of other people. Indeed, she much preferred to talk to Merry. Yet she had to admit that Bob's devotion flattered her. She was, after everything was said, very human, with a feminine liking for adoration. No one but Bobby had ever sent her such flowers and candy or bought tickets for all the plays, or placed such stunning motor-cars at
