He began to see, reluctantly, and with a chill sense of disaster, the impermanence of their relation. While he was kissing Ginger there were no questions and no problems, but life, he was cannily sure, could not consist wholly of kissing Ginger. The house of their love had been built upon the sands; shining, golden sands, but sands for all that, and he told himself grimly--able, now and then, to stand away from his situation and see it with a saving grain of humor--that the lasting structure of his affection must be built not only upon the rock, but upon Plymouth Rock. He found himself stressing his purity of speech, professing even more ignorance than was really his with regard to horses and cattle and crops; and Ginger, for her part, let the dresses she had bought in San Francisco hang idle in her closet and strode in to supper in her worn corduroy trousers and her brown shirt. It needed, presently, only a small weight to tip the scales, and ’Rome Ojeda supplied it. It was a day of dry and dazzling heat, and they had planned a cool and quiet afternoon in the merciful sanctuary of the house. Ginger had brought out the old Spanish chests which had come to Dos Pozos with Rosalía Valdés and they were to revel in old Spanish laces and embroideries and jewelry, and puzzle over yellowed Spanish letters, and Dean was happier and more hopeful than he had been for days. Ginger had changed her riding things for a thin thing in yellow, and she was adorably gentle. Then ’Rome Ojeda rode noisily up to the veranda and called them to come for a ride. He was on Pedro, leading Snort, and he said he would slip down to the corral and saddle Diablo while Ginger was changing her clothes. It was astonishing to see how quickly the cool old room, dimly shaded, had changed into a field of hot battle. They were never able to remember subsequently, either of them, just what went before the final challenge; there must have been speeches ripe with bitterness on both sides before Dean heard himself saying slowly--like a person in a play--“Very well, then; if you go, this is the end.” Ginger went, flinging herself into her riding suit and marching through the house with her Scotch chin held high and her Spanish mouth hard, slamming the door for good measure and springing into Snort’s saddle and loping furiously away, but she didn’t really believe it was the end. She had a very good time with ’Rome Ojeda and a wild and satisfying ride, and when she came back, four hours later, she was good-natured again. She wasn’t entirely ready to forgive Dean, but she was ready to consider forgiving him, and she went into the house to find him and tell him so. She did not find him. She found, instead, an irate and voluble Aunt Fan who had been generating rage for hours.