"Oh, dear, no--please don't," she cried.
"Why not ?" he asked curiously.

"There isn't a soul about." "I know--but--really, you mustn't." "Very well," said he, seeing that her nervousness was not at all from being asked to sing.

They sat quietly, she gazing off at the horizon, he fanning himself and studying her lovely young face.

He was somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty-five and a close observer would have suspected him of an unusual amount of experience, even for a good-looking, expansive youth of that age.
He broke the long silence.

"I'm a newspaper man from Cincinnati.
I'm on the _Commercial_ there.