He whistled noisily all the way up the lane . `` Great little dance , '' he said . `` My last in Prospect for a spell , I guess . '' `` Why ? '' asked Joan wonderingly . `` Oh , I 'm going to take a run down to South America in Matheson 's schooner . Lord knows when I 'll come back . This old place has got too deadly dull to suit me . I 'm going to look for something livelier . '' Joan 's lips turned ashen under the fringes of her white fascinator . She trembled violently and put one of her small brown hands up to her throat . `` You -- you are not coming back ? '' she said faintly . `` Not likely . I 'm pretty well tired of Prospect and I have n't got anything to hold me here . Things 'll be livelier down south . '' Joan said nothing more . They walked along the spruce-fringed roads where the moonbeams laughed down through the thick , softly swaying boughs . Paul whistled one rollicking tune after another . The girl bit her lips and clenched her hands .
He cared nothing for her -- he had been making a mock XXXXX her as of others .
Prospect after along down moonbeams of through to under up