“Mr. Fownes is down in the parlor a-waitin’. He wants to know if you’ll come down and see him--if you hain’t to bed yit.” The last sentence was obviously not a part of the message, but interested conjecture on the part of the messenger. “What does he want?” “Didn’t say. I asked him, but he let on ’twan’t none of my business. Said it was important, though.” Carmel pondered a moment. Aversion to the fat little man waged war with woman’s curiosity to know what his errand could be at this hour when Gibeon was tucking itself into its feather beds. “Please tell him I’ll come down,” she said. She went down. The parlor of the hotel was tucked off behind the big room which was combined office and lounging room for traveling men and village loafers. It contained a piano which had not been played since it had been tuned and had not been tuned for a time so long that the memory of man runneth not to the contrary. On the wall was a hand painting of a forest fire, done by a talented relative of the hotel’s proprietor. Doubtless this portrayed some very special kind of forest fire, or it would not have called forth the artist’s genius. One would not know at first glance that it depicted a forest fire, because it looked to the uninitiated like a number of dilapidated red feather dusters standing upright in a heavy surf. But it had been done by hand, and Gibeon regarded it as her artistic farthest north. There were also two gilt chairs, evidently peeling after sunburn, a small onyx table and a piece of furniture known to furniture manufacturers of its period as a settee.... Abner Fownes was, on Carmel’s entrance, the settor. He arose with the ease and grace of a man lifting a barrel of flour and bowed. “You wished to see me?” she said, coldly. “Very much. Very much indeed.” “Your business would not wait until morning?” “I chose this hour, Miss Lee,” he said, pompously. “Dislike to be watched. Whole village watches me.... Doubtless very natural, but annoying.” “I fancied we said all it was needful to say on our last meeting.” “Time for reflection. Allowed you time to cool.... Hot youth. Er--must confess I admired your--er--force of character.” “I’m sure I’m grateful.” “Be seated. Can’t talk standing up,” he said, as a potentate might invite some favored subject to be at ease in his august presence. “Wish to discuss your affairs.” “I don’t,” said Carmel, “with you.” “Um!... How old would you say I am?” “I’ve never given your age a thought.” “Fifty-two,” he said, “and well preserved. Well preserved. Careful living. Good habits.” “It must be a satisfaction to you,” she said, with ill-concealed irony. “You have--er--style and beauty,” he said. “Valuable attributes.... Be a credit to any man.” “You came to talk business, did you not?” “Not exactly.... Not precisely.” “Will you tell me why you have come,” she said, sharply. “Certainly. Certainly. Arriving at the point.” “Please do so. I am tired.”