"Ann?... Ann's young and light-hearted. There's plenty of time for the Penniman to develop in her," he answered carelessly, but Baird noticed that his color rose. Garvin dropped the subject, talked of trivial things, until they reached the Post-Road. They came upon a man here, a sturdily-built, dark-featured man, clad in neat business gray and carrying a bag. He stood at the juncture of the three roads, the Westmore Road, the Back Road to the Hunt Club and the Penniman farm, and the Post-Road. His hat was tipped back like one who had walked far and was warm, and had stopped to rest and look about him. He was looking at the Mine Banks; when the two riders came up out of the cut, he looked at them, or, rather, at Garvin; he had merely glanced at Baird. It was his steady grim stare at Garvin that arrested Baird's attention. There was no curiosity in it, it was too cold; fraught with recognition and a settled frozen antagonism. He stood his ground though Garvin's horse almost brushed him, planted firmly, like one who would instantly contest the few inches he covered. There was a quiet determined force about the man; Baird was affected by it, even before they reached him. Baird glanced questioningly at Garvin and saw that he was giving the man stare for stare, erect in his saddle, chin slightly lifted. But Garvin's look lacked the animosity that froze the other man's features, and just before they passed Baird saw Garvin's hand lift half-way to his cap then drop. They passed with Garvin's eyes shifted to look straight ahead, but the man's stare never wavered. "Speak of the devil and you see him," Garvin muttered, after they had passed. "Who is he?" Baird asked. "Coats Penniman.... No forgiveness for the past there--why should I have any compunctions over the future." He spoke icily. The cut he had received had evidently stung. Baird had already guessed. There was an unnamable likeness to Ann in the man's features. They had come to the center of the Post-Road. "Well, here we part," Garvin said more lightly. "I'll see you soon, I hope." "Come over to dinner with me to-morrow," Baird returned. "We've got to arrange about that machine." "I meant to thank you about that," Garvin said quickly. "I haven't my usual wits about me to-day. It's good of you, Baird." There was all the Westmore charm about the man when he smiled. "Not a bit of it--I'll see you to-morrow," and they parted, Garvin going off at a gallop down the Post-Road. Baird took the Back Road, glancing at Coats Penniman as he did so. He had not moved; he was looking after Garvin. "I'd hate to have a man look at me like that--especially if I was in love with his daughter," Baird said to himself.