At the side of the wharf a small warehouse held several men in the office, the smoke of pipes lifting slowly from the open door; and, at the sound of footfalls, she turned and saw Jem Stanes entering the building. His expression was surprisingly morose. It was, she thought again as she had of Jason Burrage striding darkly along the street, singularly inopportune at the arrival of so much good fortune. A burr of voices, thickened by the salt spray of many sea winds, followed. She heard laughter, and then Jem's voice, indistinguishable but sullenly angry. Honora progressed up into the town, walked past the courthouse square, and met Jason at the corner of the street. “I am glad to have a chance to welcome you,” she said, extending her hand. Close to him her sense of familiarity faded before the set face, the tightly drawn lips and hard gaze. She grew a little embarrassed. He had on another, still more surprising waistcoat, his watch chain was ponderous with gold; but dust had accumulated unattended on his shoulders, and dimmed the luster of his boots. “Thank you,” he replied non-committally, giving her palm a brief pressure. He stood silently, without cordiality, waiting for what might follow. “You are safely back with the Golden Fleece,” she continued more hurriedly, “after yoking the fiery bulls and sailing past the islands of the sirens.” “I don't know about all that,” he said stolidly. “Jason and the Argonauts,” she insisted, conscious of her stupidity. He was far more compelling than she had remembered, than he appeared from a distance: the marked discontent of his earlier years had given place to a certain power, repose: the romance which she had decided was his main characteristic was emphasized. She was practically conversing with a disconcerting stranger. “Olive was, of course, delighted,” she went resolutely on. “You must marry soon, and build a mansion.” “We are not going to marry at all,” he stated baldly. “Oh----!” she exclaimed and then crimsoned with annoyance at the involuntary syllable. That idiot, Olive Stanes, she added to herself instantly. Honora could think of nothing appropriate to say. “That's a great pity,” she temporized. Why didn't the boor help her? Hadn't he the slightest conception of the obligations of polite existence? He stood motionless, the fingers of one hand clasping a jade charm. However, she, Honora Can-deray, had no intention of being affronted by Jason Burrage. “You must find it pale here after California, if what I've heard is true,” she remarked crisply, then nodded and left him. That night at supper she repeated the burden of what he had told her to her aunt. The latter answered in a measured voice without any trace of interest: