"oh, miss fanhall!"

"what is it, mrs. truscot?"

"that was a great prank of yours last night, my dear. we all enjoyed the joke so much."

"prank?"

"yes, your riding on the ox cart with that old farmer and that young mr. what's-his-name, you know. we all thought it delicious. ah, my dear, after all—don't be offended—if we had your people's wealth and position we might do that sort of unconventional thing, too; but, ah, my dear, we can't, we can't! isn't the young painter a charming man?"

out on the porch hollanden was haranguing his friends. he heard a step and glanced over his shoulder to see who was about to interrupt him. he suddenly ceased his oration, and said, "hello! what's the matter with grace?" the heads turned promptly.

as the girl came toward them it could be seen that her cheeks were very pink and her eyes were flashing general wrath and defiance.

the worcester girls burst into eager interrogation. "oh, nothing!" she replied at first, but later she added in an undertone, "that wretched mrs. truscot——"

"what did she say?" whispered the younger worcester girl.

"why, she said—oh, nothing!"

both hollanden and hawker were industriously reflecting.

later in the morning hawker said privately to the girl, "i know what mrs. truscot talked to you about."

she turned upon him belligerently. "you do?"

"yes," he answered with meekness. "it was undoubtedly some reference to your ride upon the ox wagon."

she hesitated a moment, and then said, "well?"

with still greater meekness he said, "i am very sorry."

"are you, indeed?" she inquired loftily. "sorry for what? sorry that i rode upon your father's ox wagon, or sorry that mrs. truscot was rude to me about it?"

"well, in some ways it was my fault."

"was it? i suppose you intend to apologize for your father's owning an ox wagon, don't you?"

"no, but——"

"well, i am going to ride in the ox wagon whenever i choose. your father, i know, will always be glad to have me. and if it so shocks you, there is not the slightest necessity of your coming with us."

they glowered at each other, and he said, "you have twisted the question with the usual ability of your sex."

she pondered as if seeking some particularly destructive retort. she ended by saying bluntly, "did you know that we were going home next week?"

a flush came suddenly to his face. "no. going home? who? you?"

"why, of course." and then with an indolent air she continued, "i meant to have told you before this, but somehow it quite escaped me."

he stammered, "are—are you, honestly?"

she nodded. "why, of course. can't stay here forever, you know."

they were then silent for a long time.

at last hawker said, "do you remember what i told you yesterday?"

"no. what was it?"

he cried indignantly, "you know very well what i told you!"

"i do not."

"no," he sneered, "of course not! you never take the trouble to remember such things. of course not! of course not!"

"you are a very ridiculous person," she vouchsafed, after eying him coldly.

he arose abruptly. "i believe i am. by heavens, i believe i am!" he cried in a fury.

she laughed. "you are more ridiculous now than i have yet seen you."

after a pause he said magnificently, "well, miss fanhall, you will doubtless find mr. hollanden's conversation to have a much greater interest than that of such a ridiculous person."

hollanden approached them with the blithesome step of an untroubled man. "hello, you two people, why don't you—oh—ahem! hold on, billie, where are you going?"

"i——" began hawker.

"oh, hollie," cried the girl impetuously, "do tell me how to do that slam thing, you know. i've tried it so often, but i don't believe i hold my racket right. and you do it so beautifully."

"oh, that," said hollanden. "it's not so very difficult. i'll show it to you. you don't want to know this minute, do you?"

"yes," she answered.

"well, come over to the court, then. come ahead, billie!"

"no," said hawker, without looking at his friend, "i can't this morning, hollie. i've got to go to work. good-bye!" he comprehended them both in a swift bow and stalked away.

hollanden turned quickly to the girl. "what was the matter with billie? what was he grinding his teeth for? what was the matter with him?"

"why, nothing—was there?" she asked in surprise.

"why, he was grinding his teeth until he sounded like a stone crusher," said hollanden in a severe tone. "what was the matter with him?"

"how should i know?" she retorted.

"you've been saying something to him."

"i! i didn't say a thing."

"yes, you did."

"hollie, don't be absurd."

hollanden debated with himself for a time, and then observed, "oh, well, i always said he was an ugly-tempered fellow——"

the girl flashed him a little glance.

"and now i am sure of it—as ugly-tempered a fellow as ever lived."

"i believe you," said the girl. then she added: "all men are. i declare, i think you to be the most incomprehensible creatures. one never knows what to expect of you. and you explode and go into rages and make yourselves utterly detestable over the most trivial matters and at the most unexpected times. you are all mad, i think."

"i!" cried hollanden wildly. "what in the mischief have i done?"