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It IS lovely," she said, her eyes upon his face
as if appraising him. "I should like to know you better," she added,
with sudden and characteristic frankness, "so I think we will stay. But
you will have to be awfully good to me."
"Why, of course," he cried. "That's splendid! Perfectly jolly!"
"Then we had better find father and tell him. Come along," she ordered,
and led the way back to the camp.
The young man followed her, wondering at her, and giving slight heed
to the chatter she flung over her shoulder at him as she strode along
through the bushes.
"What's the matter with you?" she cried, facing round upon him. "You
were thinking about me, I know. Confess, now."
"I was," he acknowledged, smiling at her.
"What were you thinking? Tell me," she insisted.
"I was thinking--" He paused.
"Go on!" she cried.
"I was thinking of what your father said about you."
"My father? About me? What did he say? To you?"
"No. To dad."
"What was it? Tell me. I must know." She was very imperious in her
manner.


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