"I don't quite see----" objected the still conventional de Laney.

"Your wits, your wits, haven't you any wits at _all_?" she cried with
impatience over his unresponsiveness.

"Well, let me see. It isn't easy to do a thing like that on the spur of
the moment, Sun Fairy. A fairy's a fay, isn't it? I might call you
Fay."

"Fay," she repeated in a startled tone.

Bennington remembered that this was the name of the curly-haired young
man who had lent him the bucking horse, and frowned.

"No, I don't believe I like that," he recanted hastily.

"Take time and think about it," she suggested.

"I think of one that would be appropriate," he said after some little
time. "It is suggested by that little bird there. It is Phoebe."

"Do you think it is appropriate," she objected. "A Phoebe bird or a
Phoebe girl always seemed to me to be demure and quiet and thoughtful
and sweet-voiced and fond of dim forests, while I am a frivolous,
laughing, sunny individual who likes the open air and doesn't care for
shadows at all."

"Yet I feel it is appropriate," he insisted. He paused and went on a
little timidly in the face of his new experience in giving expression