Why impoverish
my existence by a lost opportunity? If I had not alighted that day
upon the lake and waited for you to come through the trees--" he fell
suddenly quiet, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the ground beside
him.
"The moon is climbing," said Diane irrelevantly, "and Johnny is waiting
to bandage your shoulder."
"Let him wait," returned Philip imperturbably. "And no matter what I
do the moon will go on climbing." He lazily pointed the stem of his
pipe at a firelit tree. "What glints so oddly there," he wondered,
"when the fire leaps?"
"It's the bullet," replied Diane absently and bit her lip with a quick
flush of annoyance.
"What bullet?" said Philip with instant interest. "It's odd I hadn't
noticed it before."
"Some one shot in the forest last night while Johnny was off chasing
your assailant. Likely the second man he saw cranking the car. It
struck the tree. Johnny and I made a compact not to speak of it and I
forgot. My aunt is fussy."
"Where were you?" demanded Philip abruptly.
"By the tree. It--it grazed my hair--"
Philip's face grew suddenly as changeless as the white moonlight in the
forest.
"Accidental knives and bullets in Arcadia!" said he at length. "It
jars a bit."
"I do hope," said Diane with definite disapproval, "that you're not
going to fuss.
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