And _that's_ the time for you to go _there_." Teresa smiled timidly.
"It will take them some time to search Yolo--unless," she added, "you're tired of me here." The charming _non sequitur_ did not, however, seem to strike the young man.

"I've got time yet to find a few more plants for you," she suggested.
"Oh, certainly!" "And give you a few more lessons in cooking." "Perhaps." The conscientious and literal Low was beginning to doubt if she were really practical.

How otherwise could she trifle with such a situation?
It must be confessed that that day and the next she did trifle with it.
She gave herself up to a grave and delicious languor that seemed to flow from shadow and silence and permeate her entire being.

She passed hours in a thoughtful repose of mind and spirit that seemed to fall like balm from those steadfast guardians, and distill their gentle ether in her soul; or breathed into her listening ear immunity from the forgotten past, and security for the present.

If there was no dream of the future in this calm, even recurrence of placid existence, so much the better.