He kissed her and got out of the car. There were tears in her eyes as she motored on up through the hills land. The air grew cold and brisk; she felt the sense of silence and strength. She recalled her first ride up these hills in the early morning, and that turned her thoughts to Kurt. She wondered if he were of the stuff that bird men are made of. How much more sphinx-like he was, and how different from the keen, alert, business-like flier Larry had shown himself to be! They were types as remote as the eagle and the lark. Larry, of course, was the lark. She had a feeling of loneliness in her knowledge of his going so far away. He knew more about her than any one else. She never had to play a part with him. Soon, all too soon, she found herself at the ranch. Dinner was over and the children had gone upstairs with Mrs. Merlin. Kurt returned a few moments later and came into the library where she sat alone by the open fire, pensive and distrait, still thinking of Larry and of his going into service. He looked at her oddly. This was not the pert, saucy, little girl he had taken from Bender, nor the little playmate of the children, nor yet the quiet, domestic woman who had served him that night in the kitchen. There was an indefinable charm about her that defied definition or analysis--a rapt, exquisite look that lifted her up--up to his primitive ideal. "Pen!" He started toward her, seemed to remember, hesitated and then asked lamely: "What have you been doing all day?" Her former little air of raillery crept back momentarily at his change of tone. "A narrow escape," she thought, as she said aloud, reckless of consequences: "I motored into town by myself; bought some new clothes; had dinner with an old friend; saw an aeroplane go up and--" He smiled in a bored way and asked her some irrelevant question. "The easiest way to deceive, as Hebby always said, is to tell the truth," she thought. "Pen!" He spoke with a return of his first manner. "I--" "I am very tired," she quickly interrupted, "I think I will say good-night, now." "Don't go yet," he urged, "I--" "I want to be alone," she replied wearily. "There is something I want to say to you. Jo Gary comes to-morrow!" "Yes," she answered indifferently. "Mr. Westcott found another manager, did he?" "You knew Jo was at Westcott's?" he gasped. "Certainly. I've seen Jo a number of times." "When, where?" he demanded in displeased tone. "Let me think. Why, he came back from Westcott's the day after my arrival. Their manager postponed departure. So Jo was here for the dance, and on field day--and--I think he went back to Westcott's the day you came back. Wasn't it all right to see him?" she asked guilelessly. "Mrs. Kingdon didn't object." "What other times did you see him?" "I heard him whistle one night, and I slid down the big tree near my window. Then he came one morning to bring me flowers. I am glad he is coming for keeps. He livens things up, Jo does."