the rest."

She smiled;

".... And let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath!..."

"Oh--_stop_! I can't bear it," he said, huskily; and, turning on his
face, he kissed the grass, earth's "perfumed garment," snow-sprinkled
with locust blossoms....

But the moment of passion left him serious. "When I think of Mrs.
Newbolt," he said, "I could commit murder." In his own mind he was
saying, "I've rescued her!"

"Auntie doesn't mean to be unkind," Eleanor explained, simply; "only,
she never understood me--Maurice! Be careful! There's a little
ant--don't step on it."

She made him pause in his diatribe against Mrs. Newbolt and move his
heel while she pushed the ant aside with a clover blossom. Her anxious
gentleness made him laugh, but it seemed to him perfectly beautiful.
Then he went on about Mrs. Newbolt:

"Of course she couldn't understand _you_! You might as well expect a
high-tempered cow to understand a violin solo."

"How mad she'd be to be called a cow! Oh, Maurice, do you suppose she's
got my letter by this time? I left it on her bureau. She'll rage!"