new note in Joan's laugh as she swung out of the wood and went
toward Martin one afternoon.

He caught it and looked anxiously at her. "Is anything wrong?"

"There will be," she said. "I just caught sight of Gleave among the
trees. He was spying!"

"Why do you think so?"

"Oh, he never walks a yard unless he has to. I thought I saw him
eying me rather queerly at lunch. I've been looking happy lately,
and that's made him suspicious."

"But what can he do?"

"What can't he do! Grandmother's one of the old-fashioned sort who
thinks that a girl must never speak to a man without a chaperon.
They must have been a lively lot of young women in her time! Gleave
will tell her that I've been coming here to meet you, and then
there'll be a pretty considerable row."

Martin was incredulous. He was in America in the twentieth century.
Young people did as they liked, and parents hardly ventured to
remonstrate. He showed his teeth in the silent laugh that was
characteristic of him. "Oh, no! I'll be all right. Your grandfather
knew my father."

"That won't make any difference. I believe that in a sort of way
he's jealous of my having a good time. Queer, isn't it? Are all old