The sun had gone nearly to the ridge top, and a Wilson's
thrush was celebrating with his hollow notes the artificial twilight
of its shadow.
She smiled at him a little vaguely, the mists of sleep clouding her
eyes. It is the unguarded moment, the instant of awakening. At such an
instant the mask falls from before the features of the soul. I do not
know what Bennington saw.
"Mary, Mary!" he cried uncontrolledly, "I love you! I love you, girl."
He had never before seen any one so vexed. She sat up at once.
"Oh, _why_ did you have to say that!" she cried angrily. "Why did you
have to spoil things! Why couldn't you have let it go along as it was
without bringing _that_ into it!"
She arose and began to walk angrily up and down, kicking aside the
sticks and stones as she encountered them.
"I was just beginning to like you, and now you do this. _Oh_, I am so
angry!" She stamped her little foot. "I thought I had found a man for
once who could be a good friend to me, whom I could meet unguardedly,
and behold! the third day he tells me this!"
"I am sorry," stammered Bennington, his new tenderness fleeing,
frightened, into the inner recesses of his being.
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