"Up the road there," said Brockton, pointing. "Don't you see the man on that yellow horse?" She looked a moment, straining her eyes. "Yes--that's John!" Waving her handkerchief and putting one hand to her mouth, she cried out: "Hello!" From the distance came the sound of a man's voice: "Hello yourself!" "Hurry up, you're late!" cried Laura, her face now flushed from pleasure and excitement. "Better late than never," came the rejoinder. "Hurry up," she repeated. "Not with this horse," was the answer. Laura turned to Brockton, her face beaming. Enthusiastically she exclaimed: "Now, Will, does he look like a yellow reporter?" The broker's face broke into a rather uncomfortable smile. "He _is_ a good-looking chap." The girl leaned far over the balustrade to watch her lover's progress. "Oh, he's just simply more than that!" Turning quickly to the broker, she asked: "Where's Mrs. Williams?" He pointed indoors. "She was in there playing bridge when I came out." Going hurriedly to the door leading into the house, Laura called out: "Mrs. Williams! Oh, Mrs. Williams!" "What is it, my dear?" replied her hostess from within. "Mr. Madison is coming up the path." "That's good," came the reply. "He's just in time for dinner." "Won't you come out and see him?" "No, my child. I'm up to my neck in bridge. I'm six dollars and twenty cents out now, and up against an awful streak of luck." "Shall I invite him to dinner?" "Yes, do, dear; and tell him to cross his fingers when he thinks of me." The girl ran back to Brockton, who was still standing at the edge of the terrace, watching the rider's progress. Slipping her hand involuntarily through the broker's arm and looking eagerly with him over the balustrade, she asked with girlish enthusiasm: "Do you like him?" "I don't know him," replied Brockton with an amused smile. "Well, do you think you'll like him?" she persisted. "I hope I'll like him," he answered reservedly. "Well, if you hope you'll like him, you ought to think you'll like him. He'll turn the corner of that rock in just a minute, and then you can see him. Do you want to see him?" "Why, yes--do you?" he replied, amused at her girlish enthusiasm. "Do I?" she echoed. "Why, I haven't seen him since last night. There he is!" Waving her hand wildly, she cried out: "Hello, John!" The rider was now close at hand, for Madison's voice was heard in all the fullness of its rich, deep tones: "Hello, girlie! How's everything?" "Fine!" she called back. "Do hurry." "Tell that to this horse, will you? The word 'hurry' is not in his dictionary." "I'm coming down to meet you," she called again. "All right!" came the answer. Turning quickly to Brockton, like a spoilt child, pleading for a favor, she said demurely: "You don't care. You'll wait, won't you?" "Sure," replied the broker laconically. The girl ran nimbly down the stairs of the terrace, and disappeared among the cactus bushes. CHAPTER VII.