He took his book again after dinner, and with his finger between the leaves, at the last-read, unintelligible page, he went out to the bow, and crouched down there to renew the conflict of the morning. It was not long before Dunham followed. He stooped over to lay a hand on either of Staniford's shoulders. “What makes you avoid me, old man?” he demanded, looking into Staniford's face with his frank, kind eyes. “And I avoid you?” asked Staniford. “Yes; why?” “Because I feel rather shabby, I suppose. I knew I felt shabby, but I didn't know I was avoiding you.” “Well, no matter. If you feel shabby, it's all right; but I hate to have you feel shabby.” He got his left hand down into Staniford's right, and a tacit reconciliation was transacted between them. Dunham looked about for a seat, and found a stool, which he planted in front of Staniford. “Wasn't it pleasant to have our little lady back at table, again?” “Very,” said Staniford. “I couldn't help thinking how droll it was that a person whom we all considered a sort of incumbrance and superfluity at first should really turn out an object of prime importance to us all. Isn't it amusing?” “Very droll.” “Why, we were quite lost without her, at breakfast. I couldn't have imagined her taking such a hold upon us all, in so short a time. But she's a pretty creature, and as good as she's pretty.” “I remember agreeing with you on those points before.” Staniford feigned to suppress fatigue. Dunham observed him. “I know you don't take so much interest in her as--as the rest of us do, and I wish you did. You don't know what a lovely nature she is.” “No?” “No; and I'm sure you'd like her.” “Is it important that I should like her? Don't let your enthusiasm for the sex carry you beyond bounds, Dunham.” “No, no. Not important, but very pleasant. And I think acquaintance with such a girl would give you some new ideas of women.” “Oh, my old ones are good enough. Look here, Dunham,” said Staniford, sharply, “what are you after?” “What makes you think I'm after anything?” “Because you're not a humbug, and because I am. My depraved spirit instantly recognized the dawning duplicity of yours. But you'd better be honest. You can't make the other thing work. What do you want?” “I want your advice. I want your help, Staniford.” “I thought so! Coming and forgiving me in that--apostolic manner.” “Don't!” “Well. What do you want my help for? What have you been doing?” Staniford paused, and suddenly added: “Have you been making love to Lurella?” He said this in his ironical manner, but his smile was rather ghastly. “For shame, Staniford!” cried Dunham. But he reddened violently. “Then it isn't with Miss Hibbard that you want my help. I'm glad of that. It would have been awkward. I'm a little afraid of Miss Hibbard. It isn't every one has your courage, my dear fellow.” “I haven't been making love to her,” said Dunham, “but--I--”