to him enough. "Well, I must go on," she added with a doubtful glance at
the stream. "But it doesn't look as if one could get across."

"You can try," Askew replied, and jumping down stood in the water,
holding out his hand. "Come on; there's not much risk of a slip."

Since it was too late to refuse, Grace took his hand and he waded across,
steadying her, while the current rippled round his legs. Some of the
stones were covered, but with his support she sprang across the gaps and
the effort did not hurt her foot as much as she had thought. He was not
awkward. She liked his firm grasp, and his care that she did not fall;
particularly since she saw he was satisfied to give her the help she
needed and knew when to stop. After she got across she thanked him and
let him go.

When she crossed the field Askew went home in a thoughtful mood, though
he was conscious of a pleasant thrill. He had felt the girl's charm
strongly as he stood near her at the stile, and now tried to recapture
the scene; the dark alder branches moving overhead, the sparkle of the
water, and the light and shadow that touched his companion. Her face was
attractive; although he was not a judge of female beauty, he knew its
molding was good. Mouth, nose, and chin were finely but firmly lined; her
color was delicate pink and white, and she had rather grave blue eyes.
Her figure was marked by a touch of patrician grace. Askew smiled as he
admitted that patrician was a word he disliked, but he could not think of
another that quite expressed what he meant. Anyhow the girl's charm was
strong; she was plucky and frank, perhaps because she knew her value and
need not to pretend to dignity. In a sense, this was patrician, too.

All the same, Askew, though young and romantic, was not a fool. He had