Maruja stopped in her efforts and stood up.

He continued until he had freed the luckless flounce, conscious of the soft fire of her eyes on his head and neck.
"There," he said, rising, and encountering her glance.

As she did not speak, he continued: "You are thinking, Miss Saltonstall, that you have seen me before, are you not?
Well--you HAVE; I asked you the road to San Jose one morning when I was tramping by your hedge." "And as you probably were looking for something better--which you seem to have found--you didn't care to listen to MY directions," said Maruja, quickly.
"I found a man--almost the only one who ever offered me a gratuitous kindness--at whose grave I afterwards met you.

I found another man who befriended me here--where I meet you again." She was beginning to be hysterically nervous lest any one should return and find them together.

She was conscious of a tingling of vague shame.