"Such a big, strong boy! Where's your face?" It winced and paled under
her touch. His eyes fell, shifted, could not meet Hugh's, who watched
with unsteady breathing and white lips.

"Your face is as smooth as a girl's, Pete. What a wide, low forehead
and crisp, short hair; it ripples back from your temples. You must
be a pretty boy! A neat nose and a round, hard chin and--oh, Pete,
Pete! I believe you have a dimple. How absurd! A great, long dimple
like a slit in your right cheek. Why do you blink your eyes so?
They're long eyes, with thick, short lashes. What a strong, round
neck! I think I like your face."

She patted his cheek, the pat more like a smart slap. He pulled away.
"That's for disobedience. Come back. I'm not through with you. Where's
your mouth? A big, long mouth. Pete, why does your mouth tremble?"
Her hand fell from his lips, and she turned away. "Take me out for
a walk, Hugh, please," she said. "This cabin is stuffy, now that the
days are warm. I want to sit under the pines and listen to the river.
You can tell me one of your wonderful stories about yourself."

"What does it mean, Bella?" Pete asked breathlessly when Hugh had
gone out, not so much leading the girl as hurrying after her to save
her from the rashness of her impetuous progress. "What does it mean?"
Pete was as white as paper.

"I don't know." Bella came over from the window and stood by the
fireplace, rolling her arms in her apron and shaking her head. "She's
a crazy little witch. She'll drive us mad. Hugh is half mad now--have
you noticed? She won't let him touch her. And you, poor boy! Pete,