"That is one of papa's jokes," she said. "It isn't the horn of the hunter, but of the farmer. Come, supper is ready. Oh, dear!" She clapped her hands to her head. "I can't go up with my hair looking like this. I can just see the polaric disgust of the Hathaway orbs; it goes through one like blue needles. And then the malicious snap of Mrs. Earle's, and the faint amusement of Mrs. McLane's. And I've lost my hairpins! And I never--never--can get to my tent unseen. I'm living with 'Lupie and Molly, and they're sure to be late--on purpose; I hate women--Here! Braid it. Don't tell me you can't! You must!" She presented her back to Thorpe, who was clumsily endeavouring to adapt himself to her mood. The discipline of the last six weeks stood him in good stead. "Upon my word!" he exclaimed, in dismay, "I never braided a woman's hair in my life." "Quick! Divide it in three strands--even--then one over the other--Oh, an idiot could braid hair! Tighter. Ow! Oh, you _are_ so clumsy." "I know it," humbly. "But it clings to my fingers. I believe you have it charged with electricity. It doesn't look very even." "I don't imagine it does. But it feels as if it would do. Half way down will be enough--" "Hallo!" came Hastings's voice from the top of the hill. "Are you two lost in a quicksand?" "Coming!" cried Nina. She sprang lightly up the hill, chattering as merrily as if she and the silent man beside her had spent the last half-hour flinging pebbles into the ocean. They separated on the crest of the hill, and went to their respective tents. A few moments later Nina appeared at the supper-table with her disordered locks concealed by a network of sweet-brier. The effect was novel and bizarre, the delicate pink and green very becoming. "Heaven knows when I'll ever get it off," she whispered to Thorpe, as she took the chair at his side. "It has three thousand thorns." The girls were in their highest spirit at the supper-table. Mr. McLane and Mr. Randolph were in their best vein, and Hastings and Molly Shropshire talked incessantly. Thorpe heard little that was said; he was consumed with the desire to be alone with Nina Randolph again. But she would have no more of him that night. After supper, a huge bonfire was built on the edge of a jutting cliff, and the entire party sat about it and told yarns. The women stole away one by one. Nina was almost the first to leave. The men remained until a late hour, and received calls from hilarious neighbours whose bonfires were also blazing. Don Tiburcio Castro dashed up at one o'clock, and invited Mr. Randolph to bring his party to a grand _merienda_ on the last day but one of their week, and to a ball at the Mission Dolores on the evening following. VIII When the party broke up for the night Thorpe walked a half mile over the dunes, until, for any evidence of civilisation, he was alone in the wilderness, then lay down on the warm sand and took counsel with himself.