And how can a girl be nice WITHOUT being mushy ?" She drew the brush meditatively through her hair.

"I am scared to death of Indians," she admitted, with analytical frankness, "and tarantulas and snakes--but--MUSHY!" Grant stood smoking in the doorway of the sitting-room, where he could look out upon the smooth waters of the pond darkening under the shade of the poplars and the bluff behind, when Evadna came out of her room.

He glanced across at her, saw her hesitate, as if she were meditating a retreat, and gave his shoulders a twitch of tolerant amusement that she should be afraid of him.

Then he stared out over the pond again.

Evadna walked straight over to him.
"So you're that other savage whose manners I'm supposed to smooth, are you ?" she asked abruptly, coming to a stop within three feet of him, and regarding him carefully, her hands clasped behind her.
"Please don't tease the animals," Grant returned, in the same impersonal tone which she had seen fit to employ--but his eyes turned for a sidelong glance at her, although he appeared to be watching the trout rise lazily to the insects skimming over the surface of the water.
"I'm supposed to be nice to you--par-TIC-ularly nice--because you need it most.