He had been approaching her as she sat under the tree; but when she sprang to her feet and faced him, he halted.

Lifting his hat, he greeted her with easy assurance; a confident, triumphant smile upon his heavy features.
White-faced and trembling, the mountain girl--who a few moments before, had been so unafraid--stood shrinking before this cultured representative of the arts.

Returning his salutation, she was starting hurriedly away down the trail, when he said, "Wait.

Why be in such a hurry ?" As if against her will, she paused.

"It is growing late," she faltered; "I must go." He laughed.