Idly he watched it. There were two passengers, a man and a woman, slouched well down in the seats. What could they be doing in the heat of the afternoon with the top down and in all that blazing sunlight? He stepped over to the side of the road and dragged his feet, first one and then the other, in the grass to wipe off some of the dust. He knew that he was hot and dirty and dishevelled, but he did not care much. On came the car. As it came nearer it lost its interest to him and he sat down in the grass and plucked a blade to chew, paying it no further attention. Suddenly, to his surprise, he realized it was stopping and then the woman called to him. At first he did not recognize her. Her face was quite red from the sun and she had on a fetching little close-fitting motor-bonnet with fluttering lavender strings. A long lemon-coloured duster enveloped the rest of her. She was quite pretty, with the contrast of colour, with her hair all snugly tucked away. It did not look like Mary Louise, but it was. He felt very conscious of his dusty old suit and his wilting collar and his flushed and perspiring face, as he came and stood by the car. "This is Mr. Claybrook, Joe," she said, looking at him gravely. He remembered then the big, confident man that had joined them that unhappy night. "I just heard, Joe. It was terrible. I was awfully distressed." He looked into her eyes--she spoke so earnestly--and wondered if she were feeling all she might feel. Uncle Buzz had not received very charitable treatment at her hands. The picture of it all came before his mind and he said nothing. "When is--when is the funeral?" "It's all over," he replied shortly. "This afternoon." "Oh." She turned and had a word with her companion. And then he leaned over, partly across her, smiling quietly. "We're going right back in an hour or so. Be glad to have you go with us. There's plenty of room." His voice was big and rather pleasant and he had an air of careless assumption that everything would be all right. "Yes, do, Joe," Mary Louise put in. "I had John drive me up this afternoon. I wanted to get here in time for----Aunt Susie wanted some things." It was quite natural the way she said, "I had John----" "It will be better than going back on that morning train--to-morrow? And I suppose you'll have to be back at the office Monday?" He had never known her voice to be so solicitously sweet. "No," he said, and he surprised himself, "I'm not going back." He had come to no such decision. But the idea was suddenly so utterly distasteful that it seemed impossible. And _she_ having _him_, Claybrook, take him, Joe, back to work. The smart of it was intolerable. "No," he repeated firmly, "I'm not going back." And then he gazed off across the hood of the motor into the vacant field beyond. "I see," she replied, rather softly, and he could feel that she was watching him and that Claybrook was, in a way, standing by in a condescending attitude, ready to do her bidding.