And scenic it surely was. The last part of the train ride had shown me that, and when we were motoring from the railroad station to the Moore bungalow, I was impressed with the weird beauty all about. It was dusk, and the tall trees looked black against the sky. Long shadows of hemlocks and poplars fell across the road, as the last glow of the sunset was fading, and the reflection in the lakes of surrounding scenery was clear, though dark and eerie-looking. We passed several lakes before we reached the journey’s end. “Here we are!” Moore cried at last, as we turned in at the gates of a most attractive estate. A short road led to the front door and Lora came out to greet us. I liked Kee Moore’s wife, though I never felt I knew her very well. She was of a reserved type and while amiable and cordial, she was not responsive and never seemed to offer or invite confidence. But she greeted me heartily, and expressed real pleasure at having me there. She was very good looking—a wholesome, bonny type, with an air of executive ability and absolute _savoir faire_. Her hair was dead gold, bobbed and worn straight, I think they call it a Dutch bob. Anyway, she had a trace of Dutch effect and reminded me of that early picture of Queen Wilhelmina. She sent me to my room to brush up but told me I needn’t change as the bungalow was run informally. The place rejoiced in the name of “Variable Winds,” and though the Moores guyed the idea of having a name for such an unpretentious affair, they admitted it was at least appropriate. I returned to the living room to find the group augmented by a few more people: one house guest and two or three neighbours. Cocktails appeared and the cheery atmosphere dispelled the darksome and gloomy effects that had marked our drive from the station. I found myself next my fellow guest, a pleasant-faced lady, who introduced herself. “I’m Maud Merrill,” she vouchsafed. “I’m staying here, so you must learn to like me.” “No trouble at all,” I told her, and honestly, for I liked her at once. She was a widow, perhaps thirty or so, with white hair and deep blue eyes. I judged her hair was prematurely grayed, for her face was young and attractive. “I’m an old schoolmate of Lora Moore’s,” she disclosed further, “and I’m up here for a fortnight. Are you staying long?” “I’m invited indefinitely,” I returned. “I’ll stay a month, I think, if they seem to want me.” “Oh, they will. They’ve both looked forward to your coming with real delight. And you’ll like it here. There’s no end of things to do. Fishing of course, and bathing and boating and golf and tennis and dancing and flirting—in fact, you can have just whatever sport you want.” “Sounds rather strenuous. I had hoped for a restful time.”