"I don't think I do," she answered, and her lashes swept her cheeks
as she lifted the sketch-book to her knees. "Only suppose I was to
dream--some of your--other work--some day? I don't want to build your
bridges--but I might want to--write some of your poems. Hadn't you better
do something to stop me right now?" The smile had come to stay and
peeped roguishly out at him from beneath her lashes.

"No," he answered calmly, "if you want my dreams--they are yours."

"Oh," she said as she rose to her feet and looked down at him wistfully,
"your beautiful, beautiful dreams! Ever since that afternoon I have gone
over and over the lines you read me. The one about the 'brotherhood of
our heart's desires' keeps me from being lonely. I think--I think I went
to sleep saying it to myself last night and--"

It couldn't go on any longer--as Andrew rose to his feet he gathered
together any stray wreckage of wits that was within his reach and
managed, by not looking directly at her, to say in a rational, elderly,
friendly tone, slightly tinged with the scientific:

"My dear child, and that's why you built my bridge for me to-day. You
put yourself into mental accord with me by the use of my jingle last
night and fell asleep having hypnotized yourself with it. Things wilder
than fancies are facts these days, written in large volumes by extremely
erudite old gentlemen and we believe them because we must. This is a
simple case, with a well-known scientific name and--"

"But," interrupted Caroline Darrah, and as she stood away from him
against the dim hills, her slender figure seemed poised as if for flight,