"It is perhaps Nora to whom I refer," he suggested, whimsically.

"She is not always companionable--Nora," Katrine returned; "and to-day
she is not pleased with me, so I like her less than usual. She purposed
to cook nettles in the potatoes, and I remonstrated, and--I have not
absented myself from your society," she said, abruptly breaking her talk
after a woman's way.

"Then why didn't you watch the sunset from the Chestnut Ridge last night
and the night before and the night before that?" he asked.

"Why didn't I watch the sunset from the Chestnut Ridge?" she repeated
after him, as though not understanding; and then, with a slow, steady
smile, looking straight in his eyes, "The thought never occurred to me,"
she said.

No studied coquetry could have piqued him as this simple statement,
which he felt to be the plain truth. He had taken three long walks on
the off-chance of meeting a girl who apparently had forgotten his
existence, and although the thought was humorous it stirred in him a
determination to make his existence a remembered thing to her.

"But, if I had known," she explained, and the selflessness and sweetness
of her as she spoke touched him strangely--"if I had thought you wanted
to talk to me, I should have been glad to come."

Fortunately there remained to him a dignified explanation of his
suggestion.