Philip turned to the canoe, with a laugh that was like a boy's. He
threw the pack at Jeanne's feet and unstrapped it. Together they
sorted out the things they wanted, and Philip cut crotched sticks
on which he suspended two pots of water over the fire. He found
himself whistling as he gathered an armful of wood along the
shore. When he came back Jeanne had opened a bottle of olives and
was nibbling at one, while she held out another to him on the end
of a fork.
"I love olives," she said. "Won't you have one?"
He accepted the thing, and ate it joyously, though he hated
olives.
"Where did you acquire the taste?" he asked. "I thought it took a
course at college to make one like 'em."
"I've been to college," answered Jeanne, quietly. There was a glow
in her cheeks now, a swift flash of tantalizing fun in her eyes,
as she fished after another olive. "I have been a student--a
TENERIS ANNIS," she added, and he stood stupefied.
"That's Latin!" he gasped.
"Oui, M'sieur. Wollen Sie noch eine Olive haben?"
Laughter rippled in her throat. She held out another olive to him,
her face aglow. Firelight danced in her hair, flooding its darker
shadows with lights of red and gold.
"I was sure of it," he exclaimed, convinced.
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