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Adelaide whistled in amazement, "Aren't I taking you motoring?"

"Why, sure."

"And didn't I see Beatrice Belle well on her road before I drove around to your place? My dear Mr. Teeftallow, if I'm not acting as if you were one of the opposite sex, then I'll quit trying—there isn't any way to do it."

Adelaide's little gusts always caught Abner up in the air and left him without any footing whatever. He grinned rather emptily now and repeated, "Well, you're a funny girl, anyway."

"Do you know why I decided to drive with you this morning instead of with Beatrice or Buck Sharp?"

"I don't know," admitted Abner, looking at her curiously.

"Can't you guess?"

"No, kain't guess."

"Your agility is surprising. Well, I'll tell you. Buck is too—too slippery. I never know what he really thinks by what he says, and what's worse, I can't tell by looking at him."

"Is that the way you usually tell?"

"It's the only way, Mr. Teeftallow. Men don't know what they mean themselves. A girl has to look and see. They all put their arms around you and kiss you in the same way, and you've got to find out why, and you haven't much time to do it in, either."

Abner had a shocked sense that Adelaide was a very improper person.

"That's what I like about you," concluded Adelaide; "you're so frank and open."

They were well out of the village now and around them lay the colourful autumn woods. Abner harked back to the original subject of their discussion, which interested him somehow.

"If you don't like Buckingham Sharp, what makes you let him come to see you?"

He is a sort of Romeo to my Juliet. You see, he is suing