"A simple fence," he continued, "just like what I have put round my garden and the fields. Then at the other side of the copse, away from the house, I would put a gate, and have keys—two keys, I think—one for me and one for you—not more; and I would bring the asphalt path———"
"But Harcourt———-"
"But Evelyn!"
"I—I—I———"
"You—you—you———?"
"I—I don't want an asphalt path."
"No? Perhaps you are right. Cinders perhaps. Yes. Or even gravel."
"But Harcourt—I don't want a path at all. I—I—can't afford a path."
He gave a roar of triumphant laughter. "Dearest! As if you were going to be bothered? The path's part of my present."
"The wood is your present," said Miss Beaumont. "Do you know—I don't care for the path. I'd rather always come as we came to-day. And I don't want a bridge. No—nor a fence either. I don't mind the boys and their initials. They and the girls have always come up to Other Kingdom and cut their names together in the bark. It's called
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