pavilion, canoodling couples were sitting out on the rocks--nobody
seemed to realize what a stupendous thing had happened.

Kenneth was a tall lad, very good looking, with a certain careless grace
of bearing that somehow made all the other boys seem stiff and awkward
by contrast. He was reported to be awesomely clever, with the glamour of
a far-away city and a big university hanging around him. He had also the
reputation of being a bit of a lady-killer. But that probably accrued to
him from his possession of a laughing, velvety voice which no girl could
hear without a heartbeat, and a dangerous way of listening as if she
were saying something that he had longed all his life to hear.

"Is this Rilla-my-Rilla?" he asked in a low tone.

"Yeth," said Rilla, and immediately wished she could throw herself
headlong down the lighthouse rock or otherwise vanish from a jeering
world.

Rilla had lisped in early childhood; but she had grown out of it. Only
on occasions of stress and strain did the tendency re-assert itself. She
hadn't lisped for a year; and now at this very moment, when she was so
especially desirous of appearing grown up and sophisticated, she must go
and lisp like a baby! It was too mortifying; she felt as if tears were
going to come into her eyes; the next minute she would be--blubbering--
yes, just blubbering--she wished Kenneth would go away--she wished he
had never come. The party was spoiled. Everything had turned to dust and
ashes.

And he had called her "Rilla-my-Rilla"--not "Spider" or "Kid" or
"Puss," as he had been used to call her when he took any notice whatever