She turned with a playful growl, and parting her crimson lips, showed them to me—white and shapely, and as even as if they had been wrought of ivory. She knew they were beautiful, the vixen.
"You terrify me. I have a mind to run," I said, backing off,
"Please do not run," she answered quickly. "I should be afraid that—that—"
She hesitated a moment, stirring the moss with one dainty foot.
"That you might not return," she added, smiling as she looked up at me.
"Then—then perhaps it will do as well if I climb a tree."
"No, no; I wish to talk with you."
"Ma'm'selle, you honor me," I said.
"And dishonor myself, I presume, with so much boldness," she went on. "It is only that I have something to say; and you know when a woman has something to—to say—"
"It is a fool that does not listen if she be as fair as you," I put in.
"You are—well, I shall not say what I think of you, for fear—for fear of giving offence,"
