"Only till about four o'clock. We're paired, you and me, so we'll both stay away from the election. Why don't you pick you a good book and enjoy yoreself? There's a lot of A 1 readin' in that case over there. It'll sure improve yore mind." Clarendon ground his teeth impotently. His guest continued to grin over the good stories of the old horse-trader. When he closed the book at last, he had finished it. His watch told him that it was twenty minutes to five. Bromfield's man was at the door trying to get in. He met Lindsay going out. "No, I can't stay to tea to-day, Mr. Bromfield," the Arizonan was saying, a gleam of mirth in his eyes. "No use urging me. Honest, I've really got to be going. Had a fine time, didn't we? So long." Bromfield used bad language. CHAPTER XXXIX IN CENTRAL PARK Johnnie burst into the kitchen beaming. "We're gonna p'int for the hills, Kitty. Clay he's had a letter callin' him home." "When are you going?" "Thursday. Ain't that great?" She nodded, absently. Her mind was on another tack already. "Johnnie, I'm going to ask Miss Whitford here for dinner to-night." "Say, you ce'tainly get the best notions, honeybug," he shouted. "Do you think she'll come?" "Sure she'll come." "I'll fix up the bestest dinner ever was, and maybe--" Her conclusion wandered off into the realm of unvoiced hopes, but her husband knew what it was as well as it she had phrased it. When Clay came home that evening he stopped abruptly at the door. The lady of his dreams was setting the table in the dining-room and chatting gayly with an invisible Kitty in the kitchen. Johnnie was hovering about her explaining some snapshots of Clay he had gathered. "Tha's the ol' horn-toad winnin' the ropin' championship at Tucson. He sure stepped some that day," the Runt boasted. The delicate fragrance of the girl's personality went to Clay's head like wine as he stepped forward and shook hands. To see her engaged in this intimate household task at his own table quickened his pulse and sent a glow through him. "You didn't know you had invited me to dinner, did you?" she said, little flags a-flutter in her cheeks. They had a gay dinner, and afterward a pleasant hour before Clay took her home. Neither of them was in a hurry. They walked through Central Park in the kindly darkness, each acutely sensitive to the other's presence. Her gayety and piquancy had given place to a gentle shyness. Clay let the burden of conversation fall upon her. He knew that he had come to his hour of hours and his soul was wrapped in gravity.