"Oh! Paternal old chap, I suppose. No? Well, anyway, I
don't know what he had in mind, but you're going to spend
Sunday at the dunes of Indiana with me."

"Dunes? Of Indiana?"

"There's nothing like them in the world. Literally. In
September that combination of yellow sand, and blue
lake, and the woods beyond is--well, you'll see what it is.
It's only a little more than an hour's ride by train. And
it will just wipe that tired look out of your face, Fan."
He stood up. "I'll call for you tomorrow morning at eight,
or thereabouts. That's early for Sunday, but it's going to
be worth it."

"I can't. Really. Besides, I don't think I even want to.
I----"

"I promise not to lecture on Nature, if that's what's
worrying you." He took her hand in a parting grip. "Bring
some sandwiches, will you? Quite a lot of 'em. I'll have
some other stuff in my rucksack. And wear some clothes you
don't mind wrecking. I suppose you haven't got a red tam o'
shanter?"

"Heavens, no!"

"I just thought it might help to keep me humble." He was at
the door, and so was she, somehow, her hand still in his.
"Eight o'clock. How do you stand it in this place, Fan?