He laughed a highly disagreeable laugh, and marched into the house. Presently he bawled for dinner, and Wilna went away. For her sake I had remained calm and dignified, but presently I went out and kicked up the turf two or three times; and, having foozled my wrath, I went back to dinner, realising that I might as well begin to accustom myself to my future father-in-law. It seemed that he had a mania for prunes, and that's all he permitted anybody to have for dinner. Disgusted, I attempted to swallow the loathly stewed fruit, watching Blythe askance as he hurriedly stuffed himself, using a tablespoon, with every symptom of relish. "Now," he cried, shoving back his chair, "I'm going to paint a moonlight by moonlight. Wilna, if Billy arrives, make him comfortable, and tell him I'll return by midnight." And without taking the trouble to notice me at all, he strode away toward the veranda, chewing vigorously upon his last prune. "Your father," said I, "is eccentric. Genius usually is. But he is a most interesting and estimable man. I revere him." "It is kind of you to say so," said the girl, in a low voice. I thought deeply for a few moments, then: "Who is 'Billy?'" I inquired, casually. I couldn't tell whether it was a sudden gleam of sunset light on her face, or whether she blushed. "Billy," she said softly, "is a friend of father's. His name is William Green." "Oh." "He is coming out here to visit--father--I believe." "Oh. An artist; and doubtless of mature years." "He is a mineralogist by profession," she said, "--and somewhat young." "Oh." "Twenty-four years old," she added. Upon her pretty face was an absent expression, vaguely pleasant. Her blue eyes became dreamy and exquisitely remote. I pondered deeply for a while: "Wilna?" I said. "Yes, Mr. Smith?" as though aroused from agreeable meditation. But I didn't know exactly what to say, and I remained uneasily silent, thinking about that man Green and his twenty-four years, and his profession, and the bottom of the crater, and Wilna--and striving to satisfy myself that there was no logical connection between any of these. "I think," said I, "that I'll take a bucket of salad to your father." Why I should have so suddenly determined to ingratiate myself with the old grouch I scarcely understood: for the construction of a salad was my very best accomplishment. Wilna looked at me in a peculiar manner, almost as though she were controlling a sudden and not unpleasant inward desire to laugh. Evidently the finer and more delicate instincts of a woman were divining my motive and sympathizing with my mental and sentimental perplexity. So when she said: "I don't think you had better go near my father," I was convinced of her gentle solicitude in my behalf. "With a bucket of salad," I whispered softly, "much may be accomplished, Wilna." And I took her little hand and pressed it gently and respectfully. "Trust all to me," I murmured.