'I dare say I'd better go in,' she replied, checking a little sigh
as she closed her magazine.

'No, no, don't go, Paula!' urged her cousin, rising. 'You shall have
a shawl, dear; I'll get it.'

'It is very warm,' put in Egremont. 'There surely can't be any
danger in sitting till it grows dark.'

This little fuss about her soothed Paula for a while.

'Oh, I don't want to go,' she said. 'I feel I'm getting very serious
and wise, listening to such talk. Now we shall hear, I suppose, what
you mean by your "local preacher"?'

Annabel brought a shawl and placed it carefully about the girl's
shoulders. Then she said to her father:

'Let me sit next to Paula, please.'

The change of seats was effected. Annabel secretly took one of her
cousin's hands and held it. Paula seemed to regard a distant object
in the garden.

There was silence for a few moments. The evening was profoundly
calm. A spirit of solemn loveliness brooded upon the hills, glorious
with sunset. The gnats hummed, rising and falling in myriad crowds
about the motionless leaves. A spring which fell from a rock at the
foot of the garden babbled poetry of the twilight.