When Robert was sure that Margaret was out of ear-shot, he said in a low voice,—
"I say, Philip, what does Atalanta mean, anyhow?"
The young physician smiled, and answered, in a tone not quite free from irony,—
"My dear fellow, that's a difficult question. It has puzzled wiser people than you or me. The story goes that many a poor fellow lost his head, in more ways than one, in trying to find out what Atalanta did mean. It's a riddle. Give it up—that 's my advice."
"I never was good at riddles," Robert answered gravely, not without a suspicion that his friend was laughing at him. Philip saw this in his face; and repenting his first impulse to chaff his less erudite friend, was about to enlighten him on the subject of Atalanta's identity, when Robert cried out, "Good-by, Rondelet, I see she is ready;" and waving his hand to Philip, he ran to meet Margaret, who at that moment appeared on the gallery. Without a word of farewell, Margaret turned, and in a joyous mood sprang down the garden path, with Robert at her side. The iron wicket shut behind them with a sharp snap, and Rondelet was left alone. As he walked toward the house, he heard a shrill cry of grief. General Jackson had broken his bird's nest, and was shrieking inconsolably.
