"Diane, I simply _must_ see him! I'm dying for a new sensation. Ever since Baron Tregar's car was stolen from the farm garage and his handsome secretary _mysteriously_ disappeared (by the way, it's Philip Poynter--Carl knows him--do you?) and then reappeared with a most unsatisfactory explanation which didn't in the least explain where he had been--only to up and disappear again as strangely as before, and the _very_ next morning--life has been terribly monotonous. And mother had a rustic seizure and made us stay at the farm _all_ summer. Imagine! Dick's aeroplaned the tops off _all_ the trees! "_Do_ beg your Hungarian to join us at Palm Beach in January. It would be _most interesting_ and novel and I'll _swear_ on the ancestral stiletto to preserve his incognito! You remember you solemnly promised to come to me in January, no matter _where_ you were! My enthusiasm grows as I write--it always does. I'm planning a _fete de nuit_--masked of course. Do please induce the romantic musician to attend. I _must_ have him. I'm sure he'll enjoy a few days of conventional respectability and so will you. I'll lend you as many gowns as you need, you dear, delightful gypsy!" To which Diane's answer was eminently satisfactory. "Last night as Johnny was getting supper," she wrote, "our minstrel appeared with a great bunch of silver-rod and I begged him to stay to supper. He was greatly gratified and when later I confessed my indiscreet revelation to you--and your invitation--he accepted it instantly. He will be honored to be your guest, he said, provided of course he may depend upon us to preserve his incognito. That is very important. Do you know it is astonishing how I find myself keyed up to the most amazing pitch of interest in him--he's so mysterious and romantic and magnetic. "Your constant craving for new and original sensations brings back a lot of memories. Will you never get over it? "I shall probably leave the van with Johnny at Jacksonville and go down by rail. There are certain spectacular complications incident to an arrival at Palm Beach in the van which would be very distasteful, to say the least. Besides, I'd be later than we planned." For most likely, reflected Diane, nibbling intently at the end of her pen, most likely Palm Beach had never seen a hay-camp and much Mr. Poynter would care! CHAPTER XXIV THE LONELY CAMPER The west was yellow. High on the mountain where a mad little waterfall sprayed the bushes of laurel and rhododendron with quicksilver, the afterglow of the sunset on the tumbling water made a streak of saffron. The wings of a homing eagle were golden-black against the sky. Over there above the cornfields to the west there was a cliff and a black and bushy ravine over which soared a buzzard or two. Presently when the moon rose its splendid alchemy would turn the black to glowing silver.