Jon bit his lip. To give the reason—family feud—broken love affair—was not exactly possible.

“I went first to British Columbia; but I didn’t get on too well. Then I heard of peaches in North Carolina.”

“But why did you leave England?”

“I suppose I just wanted to see the world.”

“Yes,” she said. It was a quiet but comprehending sound; Jon was the more gratified, because she had not comprehended. The image of his first love did not often haunt him now—had not for a year or more. He had been so busy with his peaches. Besides, Holly had written that Fleur had a boy. He said suddenly: “I think we ought to turn. Look at the sun!” The sun, indeed, was well down behind the trees.

“My—yes!”

Jon turned his steed. “Let’s gallop, it’ll be down in half an hour; and there’s no moon till late.”

They galloped back along the track. The sun went down even faster than he had thought, the air grew cold, the light grey. Jon reined up suddenly.

“I’m awfully sorry; I don’t believe we’re on the track we came by from the picnic. I feel we’ve gone off to the right. The tracks are all alike and these horses only came in from Columbia yesterday; they don’t know the country any more than we do.”

The girl laughed.

“We’ll be lost.”

“M’m! That’ll be no joke in these woods. Don’t they ever end?”

“I reckon not, in these parts. It’s an adventure.”

“Yes; but you’ll catch cold. It’s jolly cold at night.”

“And you’ve had ‘flu!”

“Oh! That’s all right. Here’s a track to the left. Shall we go on, or shall we take it?”

“Take it.”

They cantered on. It was too dark now for galloping, and soon too dark for cantering. And the track wound on and on.

“This is a pretty business,” said Jon. “I am sorry.” He peered towards her riding beside him, and could just see her smile.

“Why! It’s lots of fun.”