"I slept like a log through all of it," said Alix. "I love the wild night wind. It makes me feel so nice and comfy in bed. I was awfully tired last night. Thanks." Then turning to Courtney: "Sorry you will not go with me. I'll bear you in mind if I ever take a trip to the Sahara. Good-bye." "Will you be at home tonight?" he asked, holding the door open for her to pass through. "Yes," she replied composedly. "I mean,--to me?" "If you care to come," she said. He did not accompany her to the car. The big grey-brown dog with his paws on the back of the front seat, was eagerly watching her approach. She wore a long mole-skin coat and a smart little red turban. She had never looked so alluring to the young man who waited in the open door until the car started away. "Close the door, please," called out Mrs. Pollock. "This isn't July, you know." "So she slept like a log, did she?" muttered Courtney as he turned away from his lockbox with a letter. "Well, that's more than I did." He glanced hurriedly through the letter, crumpled it up in his hand, and went jauntily up the street until he came to Hatch's Photograph Gallery. Entering, he gave the proprietor a hearty "good morning," and then drew a chair up before the low "sheet-iron stove" which heated the reception-room. Hatch was "printing" behind a partition, and their conversation was carried on at long range over the top. Presently the visitor drew the crumpled letter from his pocket, tore it into tiny pieces and cast it into the fire. "Well, so long, Hatch. I'm off for a stroll in your crisp October air." CHAPTER XI THANE VISITS TWO HOUSES All day long Alix was troubled. She could not free her thoughts of that searing look or the spell it had cast over her during the brief instant of contact. She was haunted by it. At times she gave herself up to a reckless, unmaidenly rejoicing in the thrill it had given her; at such times she flushed to the roots of her hair despite the chill of ecstasy that swept over her. But far more often she found herself resenting the liberty his eyes had taken,--a mental rather than a physical liberty. She was resolved that it should not happen again. She had posted a note to David Strong that morning. Before the car had covered the first mile on its way to town, she was wishing she had not dropped it into the slot at the post-office. Only the fear of appearing ridiculous to Mrs. Pollock kept her from turning back to reclaim it. She could not explain this sudden, almost frantic impulse,--she did not attempt to account for it. Somehow she sensed that it had to do with the look in Thane's eyes,--but it was all so vague and intangible that even the suggestion did not take the form of thought. In this curt little note she had said: DEAR DAVID: