It was so childish, Rod said to himself impatiently, when Grove left him with an inarticulate growl, for him to take it that way. What difference need it make to Grove whom his brother married? Grove was the biggest toad in a puddle where big toads were common. But it was the nature of the man to restrict the splashing to such as he approved, if it were in his power. It was also the nature of the man to be greedy of power, to exercise it arbitrarily if he could, regardless of justice or even common sense. For the class of people out of which Mary Thorn had sprung Grove Norquay had only a disdainful recognition. They were the material upon which such as he were ordained to thrive. Rod knew Grove and Grove's crowd. Grove's dignity would suffer at their hands. Grove would be maddened by jocular references to his new sister-in-law. A hand-logger's daughter! How quaint of Rod! Grove would be as disagreeable to Mary as he dared, as vindictive as he could. He was made that way,--more vindictive over trifles than he would be over a deadly wrong. Rod wondered why their father had never been able to see the weakness of this his son. Phil did. Phil had frankly expected a _débâcle_ in Grove's financial operations. It hadn't come. He throve, waxed great. Nevertheless, quoth Phil, in a moment of pessimism, a man may successfully direct a great profit-making enterprise and still be a poor specimen of manhood, a gross, self-centered, unstable egotist. Rod agreed. Mr. Grove Norquay tarried only two hours at Hawk's Nest. His visage and manner were at no time genial. He acknowledged his introduction to Mary in about as distant a fashion as he could effect. And having had a wide experience in freezing undesirables, Grove could be appallingly glacial when he tried. His iciness was wasted on Mary. She merely smiled, gazed at him with bland unconcern. She was fairly good at that. Thereafter, during a brief, general conversation Grove took pains neither to address her nor to look at her, except for an occasional appraising glance. He exploded a small bomb in the vicinity of his wife after luncheon. "We're going back within the hour," he said. His tone was brusque, snappy. "Must you go back so soon?" Laska inquired amiably. "It was hardly worth the long run." "I said '_we_,'" Grove bore hard on the pronoun. "If you have any things to take, better have them got ready." "But, good heavens, Grove, _must_ I go back to town on such short notice? Has anything extraordinary happened?" Laska was frankly astonished. "Nothing has happened. But I'm afraid you must. I came especially for you." Laska looked thoughtful for a moment. "Of course," she said dryly, "when one has promised to love, honor, and _obey_, one hasn't much choice. I'll have my bags sent aboard. Give a whoop when you're ready to leave."