She declined his arm in our garden walk, and positively forbade me to cut
a rose for her--but with a grace almost maidenly. As I let them out, the
heat-lightning gleamed again low in the west. A playfulness came into M.
Fontenette's face and he murmured to me, "See se lightening."

"Yes," I replied, pressing his hand, "but I sink sare vill be no storm if
sare iss no sunder."

Mrs. Fontenette gave a faint gasp of impatience and left us at a run,
tripping fairily across the rough street at the only point visible to
those on the veranda. Fontenette scowled unaware as he started to follow,
and the next moment a short "aha!" escaped him. For, at her gate, to my
unholy joy, she stumbled just enough to make the whole performance
unspeakably ridiculous, and flirted into her cottage----

"In tears!" I offered to bet myself as I turned to rejoin my companions on
the veranda, and wished with all my soul the goggled Baron could have seen
it.



VIII


But the best of eyes would not have counted this time, for he was not
there. He had accepted the offer of a room, where he was giving the day's
specimens certain treatments which he believed, or pretended, could not
wait until he should reach his far downtown cottage. His hostess and his
wife had gone with him, but now some light discussion of house adornment