with fat stomachs, the old men with dragging feet. It embarrassed
her to meet his gaze, it was so--so investigating. She guessed he
was by the sea because he felt as badly as he looked. He asked
surprisingly:

"Why are you here?"

"On the account of my mother," she explained. "But it doesn't matter
much where I am. Places are all alike," she continued conversationally.
"We're mostly at hotels--Florida in winter and Lake George in summer.
This is kind of between."

"Oh!" he said; and she was sure, from that short single exclamation,
he understood everything.

"Like all true beauty," he added, "it's plain that you are durable."

"I don't like the seashore," she went on easily; "I'd rather be in a
garden with piles of flowers and a big hedge."

"Have you ever lived in a garden-close?"

"No," she admitted; "it's just an idea. I told mother but she
laughed at me and said a roof-garden was her choice."

"Some day you'll have the place you describe," he assured her. "It
is written all over you. I would like to see you, Bellina, in a
space of emerald sod and geraniums." She decided to accept without
further protest his name for her. "You are right, too, about the
hedge--the highest and thickest in creation. I should recommend a