"You'd be a wonderful Carmen," returned Whitcomb, regarding her lithe dipping and swinging, admiringly. "Oh, mar-velous!" she rejoined. "So long," and taking the rickety piazza steps two at a time she disappeared into the house. King immediately buttonholed his friend. "Come over to the tent, will you?" he said. "Sure thing," returned Whitcomb, flinging an arm around the other's shoulders. They crossed the grass and entering the tent sat down on camp-stools in the opening, where the increasing mystery and magic of the night was spread before them. "I can see that you and Linda have fixed it up," said Whitcomb. "She has worried her head off for fear the old friendship would never be renewed. She thinks an awful lot of you, old man." At the beginning of this speech King looked up eagerly. Could it be that his task was going to be so easy? But as Whitcomb continued, his look veered away, back to the moon path. "Yes, we fixed it up," he replied. There was a space of silence during which he tried to decide how to go on. "You've been frank with me, Freddy, at various times regarding Linda, and I've been rather surprised lately to notice that you're not very assiduous in your attentions over there." Whitcomb's eyes also sought the moon path and a perplexed line came in his forehead. "No," he admitted. "Something has happened to Linda. She's different. I can't say that she ever let me come very near to her, but now--since she left Chicago, she has grown away from me; far away. She seems to have a lot of new ideas that I can't follow. I don't seem to get on with her." "And you do get on with Madge Lindsay?" suggested King. "Isn't she a peach?" ejaculated Whitcomb, turning to his companion a suddenly bright face. "Why, it's like owning a whole vaudeville company to be with her. Little slender thing that looks as if you could snap her in two between your thumb and finger; but game! Gee, but she's game!" "She is game," agreed King, the vapor-cloud which had obscured a trifle the full sun of his happiness melting away. "Of course, a man doesn't connect sentiment with that sort of girl," went on Whitcomb, "but she's a comrade: just as good as a chap, you know." "I understand perfectly," returned King, "but sometimes these delightful chaps in petticoats have very feminine hearts; and you don't want to break them in two between thumb and finger." "Oh, rot," returned Whitcomb, trying not to look pleased. "There she is," he continued, starting up from his camp-stool as a figure in a pale wrap of some sort came out on the piazza. "That's another thing about Madge. She can change her clothes in a jiffy." "Hold on a bit, will you?" said King quietly. "Sure. Long as you like. Madge and I thought perhaps you'd come over to the rock with us and listen to the Loreleis." "I haven't quite finished telling you, Freddy. You know I said something to you about the past being dead and all that." "Yes." "Well--I was mistaken. Linda and I--"