Eleanor felt Quin's eyes seek hers confidently, but she refused to meet them. There was a painful silence; then he spoke up hopefully: "I know where there are wild flowers to burn: I was at a place yesterday where you could hardly walk for them; I counted seven different kinds in a space about as big as this room." "Where?" demanded Mr. and Mrs. Ranny in one breath. "Out Anchordale way--I don't know the name of the road. It's an out-of-the-way sort of place. Never was there myself until yesterday." "Could you find it again?" Mrs. Ranny asked with an enthusiasm hitherto reserved for her poodle. "Sure," said Quin, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning back with the frankest and best-natured of smiles. "I never saw so many cowslips and buttercups and yellow violets, and these here little arums." "Arums!" repeated Eleanor. "What do you know about wild flowers?" "I lived with 'em up in the Maine woods," said Quin. "I don't know their high-brow names, but I know the kind of places they grow in and where to look for 'em." "Let's take him along!" said Mrs. Ranny. "We won't mind being a bit crowded in the motor, will we?" Involuntarily all eyes turned toward Harold Phipps. "Not in the least," he said, flicking an ash from the sleeve of his uniform with a dexterous little finger, "especially as I am not going to be with you all the way. These bucolic joys are hardly in my line. I'll get you to drop me at the Country Club." It was Eleanor's turn to cast a look of tragic appeal and get no response. In vain she tried to persuade him to reconsider his decision. His only concession was that he would remain at the apartment with her if she would give up the expedition, a suggestion that was promptly vetoed by Aunt Flo. Eleanor was angry enough to cry as she flung on her wraps in the little silk-hung guest-room. Men were so selfish, she savagely told herself; if either Quin or Harold had had a particle of consideration for her they would not have spoiled her last day at home. On the way out to the club she sat between them, miserably indifferent to the glory of the spring day and refusing to contribute more than an occasional monosyllable to the conversation, which needed all the encouragement it could get to keep going. "Shall I see you again before you go?" Harold asked coldly, upon leaving the car. She wanted very much to say no, and to say it in a way that would punish him; but, in view of the important matter pending, she was forced to swallow her pride and compromise. "I can see you to-night at the Newsons', unless you prefer spending your evening here at the club." "You know perfectly well what I prefer," he said with a meaning look; and then, without glancing at Quin, across whose knees he had clasped Eleanor's hand, he bade his host and hostess an apologetic good-by and mounted the club-house steps. "What _made_ you come?" Eleanor demanded fiercely of Quin, under cover of the starting motor.