“You big boy!” she scoffed, tenderly. “In the first place, people sit up stiffly, without talking, while the music is going on,--at least they’re supposed to. In the second, don’t think just because _you’re_ foolish enough to like being with me, that other people will. I don’t think there will be any _very_ tumultuous applause when I enter.” “It’ll be the hit of the evenin’ as far as _I’m_ concerned,” stoutly averred Caleb. “I’m goin’ out to the Arareek Club in a few minutes,” he went on, glancing at his watch. “There’s a dinner given to the golf champion or middleweight tattin’-work-expert or some such c’lebrity. I’m going to drop in for the speeches. It’ll be my first appearance there since they didn’t kick me out. Caine’s goin’ too; for the speeches. Him an’ Miss Standish, I b’lieve. Won’t you come along?” “I can’t,” lamented the girl. “Mrs. Cole and her sister from Denver are coming in to see Aunt Mary. They’ll want to play whist. They always do. And I promised Aunt Mary I’d stay and make out the four. Whist is such a jolly game, I think,--for people that like it. _I_ hate it. But I’d be a splendid player, Aunt Mary says, if I could ever remember what cards are out. So I’m in for a happy, happy evening. I wish they could ask the cook to play instead. Oh, dear! Why does one always feel so horrid when one is doing people a good turn?” “I don’t know,” volunteered Caleb. “I never tried.” “Never tried!” echoed Desirée. “_Why_ will you talk such nonsense? You know you’re _always_ doing things for people. Why, the paper said yesterday that you missed your train back from the Capital, just to take Mr. Blacarda to the hospital after he was so terribly hurt in the accident.” “Oh,” said Caleb, magnanimously, “That was only because I felt kind of sorry for the poor feller.” CHAPTER X IN THE HOUSE OF RIMMON Conover swung down the hill toward the valley in whose centre twinkled the lights of the Arareek Country Club. He was still buoyed up by the curious elation that was always his after an hour with Desirée. For perhaps the first time in his life the thousand soft odors of the June dusk carried for him a meaning; and in every nerve he was aware of the mild glory of the night. He took deep breaths of the scented air and squared his mighty shoulders as he strode down the slope. It was good to be alive; to feel the easy play of one’s perfect muscles; to be tireless, victorious, and still in the early thirties. A girl in a white dress was walking a short distance ahead of him as he neared the Clubhouse. Each long step brought Conover nearer to her. At her side walked a man. The couple were in no haste, but seemed bent on enjoying the beauty of the night in leisurely fashion before reaching their destination. As Caleb came alongside, a few rods from the Arareek gates, the man hailed him. It was Caine. Conover, barely remembering himself in time to imitate the other’s salute, pulled off his hat and slouched toward the two.