A breeze blowing across the cornfield swept over them, shaking the
maple leaves, and rippled the surface of the lake. The dusk, deepening
slowly, seemed to shut them in together.
"Pardon me, again! I hope I didn't frighten you! I am Mr. Bassett,
Marian's father."
"And I am Sylvia Garrison. I am staying--"
"Oh," he laughed, "you needn't tell me! They told me at the supper-table
all about you and that you and Marian are fast friends."
"I knew you were coming; they were speaking of it this morning."
They had drawn closer together during this friendly exchange. Again
their eyes met for an instant, then he surveyed her sharply from head to
foot, as he stood bareheaded leaning on his stick.
"I must be going," said Sylvia. "There's a path through the corn that
Mrs. Owen lets me use. They'll begin to wonder what's become of me."
"Why not follow the path to the lane,--I think there is a lane at the
edge of the field,--and I will walk to the house with you. The path
through the corn must be a little rough, and it's growing dark."
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Bassett."
"I had no idea of meeting any one when I came out. I usually take a
little walk after supper when I'm here, and I wanted to get all the car
smoke out of my lungs. I was glad to get out of Chicago; it was fiercely
hot there."
The path was not wide enough for two and she walked before him.
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