“Not much. It’s too shockingly becoming. But, whither, Judy? I thought I left you at home forcing Lucy’s babies to entertain your guest?” “I brought Ursula with me, silly. We felt the need for some shopping so we motored over yesterday evening. We got in late, and rose rather late this morning. But there’s been time for the hat, and some toys, and luncheon. Then I happened to think you might have tea with us, later; so I’ve run up to ask you.” “Your naïveté is faultless, darling.” “Neal! If you have to be a killjoy, you might try to be a humane one.” Achieve tranquillity. Do not notice the shadow, dimming the splendid blondness, the averted eyes, the contracted shoulders. “Judith, how did you know that I was here?” “But, dear, where should you be? You have never stayed at another hotel in Portland, have you? I felt a traitor myself. But I did wish to impress Ursula with the glories of the Trensonian. I think, though, Neal, that before you left you might have stuck a note on your pincushion, or——” “Drop it, Jude. Is Ursula going back to Q 2 with you?” “Did she bore you? Was it she who drove you away, silly?” “Heavy tact. You know and I know; so, what’s the use? I’m mad about her. Repellent, isn’t it? A man of my age. I’m forty-six damn years old.” “Yes, so you say. But Ursula isn’t a young girl. She has been a widow for eight years. She loves our West, and our Q 2, and——” “You’re as sentimental as a hammock.” “I don’t care. She does. And she loves you, too, and has for the past three years. You’d have known it if you hadn’t been blind. Neal—— What is it?” Merely a dream: a preposterous dream, about an absurd play in which a man, who looked like Neal, went towering, shaking blond fists at his own shoulders; went muttering, giving an amusingly over-acted performance of rage. Neal, who was always gentle and funny and kind, would laugh at such exaggerations and say, “the cross-patch,” or something of the sort. Though, if Neal were ill, he might—— Lucy said that Neal was ill, very ill. Lucy was a genius. She should be here. Judith was a simple, stupid old woman. Judith Quilter. Achieve tranquillity. “Sorry, Neal, if I was inept. Something seems to be quite the trouble. Perhaps, if you’d care to tell me, I might understand.” “Understand?” he accepted the word and seemed for a moment to caress it. “Understand!” he snarled it to pieces and flung it back, a shattered brutality. “Try understanding this, then. And, when you’ve finished with it, give it to the graceful Ursula, and see whether she can understand——” “Neal, dear! Don’t!”