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 looking down the glade, where the sunlight flashed dazzlingly on the ripples of the brook. "I wonder! It is beautiful, isn't it? The world seems a glorious place, doesn't it? All sweetness and softness and goodness, with never a pain nor a trouble. And yet, wouldn't we tire very soon? Wouldn't we sigh for gray days and—and—the rain? Yesterday, too, was beautiful."

"I didn't fancy it," said Miles, decisively. "It was forty-eight hours long and—and the tea was bitter."

The girl bent farther over Bistre, who was having his head rubbed, and Miles could not see her face.

"That was rather a shabby trick you played me," he continued, aggrievedly.

"I?" she asked, without looking up.

"You," answered Miles, sternly. "You decoyed me into the Ruggles'