It was early when he floated into Arcady and there were no violet eyes to greet him. But his impatience was soothed by the happiness which remembrance gave him. He dreamed there in the sunshine, lighting a cigarette now and then and letting it burn itself out unnoticed between his fingers. White clouds floated across the blue sky and across the surface of the pool. Dragon-flies, their metallic-lustred wings ablaze, darted and turned. Birds sang and insects buzzed, the breeze gossiped to the leaves and the moments passed. When he finally awoke fully from his dreaming and looked wonderingly at his watch the morning was almost gone. He turned disappointed eyes toward the brief vista afforded by the jealous trees. No glimpse of white drapery rewarded him. She had said that she might not come. Why? Vaguely troubled, he propelled the canoe to the bank and stepped out. Under the shade of the willow made forever sacred by their meetings he threw himself down and waited while the long hand of his watch crept laggingly half-way around the dial. But patience had flown, and when the time he had set himself had passed he jumped to his feet and set off up the lawn under the trees. [Illustration] Presently the corner of the white pergola sprang into view. Then the trees thinned away and he was looking across an open, sun-bathed stretch of lawn at the gleaming house. And as he looked, himself a scarcely noticeable figure against the green shadows of the grove, the front veranda of the house became suddenly peopled with a girl in a white frock and a man in gray flannels. They came together through the doorway and paused side by side at the top of the steps. Even at that distance Ethan recognized them only too well. The man had taken the girl’s hand and was speaking to her. Ethan watched for an instant only, yet in that instant he saw with a sudden sinking of the heart how the girl’s head, the sunlight aglint on the brown hair, lifted itself with a little gesture of intimate happiness to her companion. Then, in a sickening panic lest he might see more, Ethan turned quickly and plunged back into the shadows. All the way back to the Inn, with every stroke and lift of the paddle, a refrain hammered ceaselessly at his brain: “No poaching on my preserves! No poaching on my preserves!” What an ass he had been not to understand! He hated Vincent as he had never hated anyone in his life, realizing all the while the absolute injustice of it. Why hadn’t he guessed from Vincent’s note how the land lay? He might have known that Vincent could have referred to no one but Her. But why couldn’t the fool have come out honestly and told him? A week ago, even three days ago would have been time! Then, in the next moment, he knew that that was not so, that it had always been too late, always since that first meeting! Yet why, if she were Vincent’s, had she allowed him to love her? Why had she virtually acknowledged her love for him? Why―――― [Illustration]