Judith had done her feminine best to nullify her act and at the same time convey to Baird the status of Ann Penniman. Baird had not fathomed her, or guessed the swift jealousy that had instantly struck at Ann. Ann's smile was certainly meant for Judith, but if Judith had not realized it, it was all right enough. Garvin had told him that no Penniman ever bowed to a Westmore. The odd thing was that Ann should have risked being cut. But why should he think twice about the thing--he had no interest either in their quarrels or their attempts at reconciliation. Baird promptly forgot the incident, for, throughout the afternoon, Judith was so utterly charming to him. They had had the club to themselves; it was a little as if he were entertaining her at his own house, a new sensation to Baird--every step of his intimacy with Judith had been a new experience. They had ridden slowly back to Westmore then, through the tender green of the woods, both the languor and the stir of spring having their way with him, his eyes saying to Judith the things his lips did not. Then Westmore had deepened, as it always did, the impression of unattainability that Judith gave. Their walk on the terrace after dinner had softened the impression. Judith had talked about herself, and one admission she made had impressed Baird more than anything she had ever said; she was speaking of Westmore and of Edward: "I have been mistress of Westmore for a long time, but I realize that Edward will probably marry--he is only thirty-nine.... In a way, it will be a relief to me, and yet I shall feel a little desolate." "But you will marry," Baird had said. "If I love a man enough, I will." Baird did not know why he had not spoken, then and there. Why the thing had come suddenly and in the way in which it had--when his horse had been brought to the front door and Judith stood beside him as he was about to mount. He had tested the saddle, Judith was afraid that it might be loose, they stood together, their hands touching, and suddenly her nearness had pervaded him. He had caught her to him, held her for the instant of yielding, and then their lips had met. It was a woman's kiss he had received; a woman's clinging embrace, as passionate as the pressure of his own arms--for the long moment before withdrawal. He had tried to keep her. "Judith, we love each other--" he said, but the arms that held him off were like steel. "It's--Edward--" she whispered breathlessly. "You must let me go--" When he loosed her, she gained the portico. She had heard when he had not Edward's approach around the side of the house.