"I have missed you terribly," he said quietly.

It was dreamy weather, even for late spring: the scent of lilacs and
mock-orange hung heavy as incense along the woods. Their voices
unconsciously found the key to harmonize with it all.

She said: "Well, I think I have succeeded. In a few moments she will be
passing. I do not know her name; she rides a big roan. She is very
beautiful, Mr. Gatewood."

He said: "I am perfectly certain we shall find her. I doubted it until
now. But now I know."

"Oh-h, but I _may_ be wrong," she protested.

"No; you cannot be."

She looked up at him.

"You can have no idea how happy you make me," he said unsteadily.

"But--I--but I may be all wrong--dreadfully wrong!"

"Y-es; you may be, but I shall not be. For do you know that I have
already seen her in the Park?"

"When?" she demanded incredulously, then turned in the saddle,
repeating: "Where? Did she pass? How perfectly stupid of me! And _was_
she the--the right one?"