"You're right," said Christopher, flushing suddenly; "and as far
as I'm concerned, I'd let Lila marry you to-morrow; but as for
mother, she would simply never consent. The idea would be
impossible to her, and we could never explain things; you must
see that yourself."

"I see," replied Jim readily; "but the main point is that you
yourself would have no objection to our marriage, provided it
were possible."

"Not a bit; not a bit."

He held out his hand, and Jim shook it warmly before he picked up
his basket and went to rejoin Lila.

Turning in the path, Christopher saw the girl, who was sitting
alone on the lowered bars, rise and wave a spray of goldenrod
above her head. Then, as the lovers met, she laid her hand upon
Jim's arm and lifted her glowing face as if to read his words
before he uttered them. Something in the happy surrender of her
gesture, or in the brooding mystery of the Indian summer, when
one seemed to hear the earth turn in the stillness, touched
Christopher with a sudden melancholy, and it appeared to him when
he went on again that a shadow had fallen over the brightness of
the autumn fields. Disturbed by the unrest which follows any
illuminating vision of ideal beauty, he asked himself almost
angrily, in an effort to divert his thoughts, if it were possible
that he was weakening in his purpose, since he no longer found
the old zest in his hatred of Fletcher. The deadness of his