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never be! And I suppose"—he spoke sorrowfully—"I suppose I shall have to go, now that I can't paint."
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Prudence laid down her brush and
faced him smilingly.
"Mr. Fallon!"
"Miss Lynde?"
"You are absolutely ridiculous!"
He bowed.
"You don't keep your promises and you won't be serious. And I don't suppose there is any use in my trying to—to keep you away—from here."
"Honestly," he answered, cheerfully, "I don't believe there is."
"Therefore, as I am through myself, I will leave you to undisputed possession of this spot you seem so fond of."
She laid her palette and brushes in her box and arose. So did Miles. So did Bistre.
