The real facts were that Dick was to Lola the direct means by which she was to provide herself with the good things of life. He was a rich man. As his wife she could be sure of the things that just now seemed to her to be of all things the most to be desired. He, himself, was a handsome, good-natured, easily managed young fellow. To the physical side of her, which as yet had only been aroused for one moment when she had thrown herself into John's arms, Dick made absolutely no appeal, and twenty years of purity of thought and action had provided her with a defence against the casual promptings of instinctive desires too strong to be easily broken down. Of late a restless, nervous condition of mind and body might have warned her of a growing longing to solve for herself some of the depths of the world's knowledge. Her eyes had more than once been held for a moment by the bold, admiring gaze of some one of the strong, handsome men whom she had met or when she had passed casually on the beaches or on the hotel verandas, but the quick catch of her breath, the sudden leap of her heart at such times had speedily been forgotten; she was not given to self-analysis; her whole existence just now was centered in a daily search for pleasure. After lunch she and Dick went for a long walk, and Dick took advantage of her present gentle mood to tell her of his hope of a quick settlement of his divorce action and to discuss with her plans for their future. As they strolled along the shore road, Lola noticed, idly, a rather striking couple who seemed to keep at about the same distance ahead of them; father and daughter she thought they must be; a very pretty girl of perhaps eighteen and a man in the late fifties, but so hale and vigorous that at the first glance he suggested no thought of age; indeed, it was not until the couple turned and passed them that Lola, glancing quickly at him, saw on his face that in spite of his youthful step and almost soldierly bearing, he was a man of about her own father's time of life. The thought came to her, as for a moment she met his strong, eager glance of approval, as he saw her fresh young beauty and splendid vitality, that here was a man of real force. "How queerly he looked to me," she thought, "this old man, with a daughter very little younger than I am myself. Yet when he saw me his eyes seemed to burn into mine. He is in mourning, too, for he wore a band on his arm, and the girl is in black; how queer men are. Are they always the same, boys and men, always like that? A girl has only to look at them, and they can think of nothing but her." "Father!" The young lady looked almost angrily at him, then turning threw a quick look of scorn over her shoulder toward Lola. "What a bold-looking girl!" "Was she, my dear?" remarked her father coldly. "I thought her rather pretty."