I liked it immensely; I came near
seizing it as spoil of war,--the loot of the pergola!"
"There would be cause for another war; I have rarely liked any hat so
much. But the Baron will be after you in a moment. I can't be responsible
for you."
"The Baron annoys me. He has given me a lot of worry. And that's what I
have come to ask you about."
"Then I should say that you oughtn't to quarrel with a dear old man like
Baron von Marhof. Besides, he's your uncle."
"No! No! I don't want him to be my uncle! I don't need any uncle!"
He glanced about with an anxiety that made her laugh.
"I understand perfectly! My father told me that the events of April in
these hills were not to be mentioned. But don't worry; the sheep won't
tell--and I won't."
He was silent for a moment as he thought out the words of what he wished
to say to her. The sun was dipping down into the hills; the mellow air
was still; the voice of a negro singing as he crossed a distant field
stole sweetly upon them.
"Shirley!"
He touched her hand.
"Shirley!" and his fingers closed upon hers.
"I love you, Shirley! From those days when I saw you in Paris,--before
the great Gettysburg battle picture, I loved you.
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