Except that it might delay him getting to Helen, he felt no annoyance over this incident; it was only two miles from the village to Greenacres, and he often made the trip on foot by choice. It was a splendid, picturesque walk, which to him had never lost its charm. Carrying his manuscript case of black leather, he swung off briskly, choosing the dirt road rather than the paved highway; this not only afforded the more scenic view, but also saved him nearly a quarter of a mile. He was in a hurry for, try as he would, he could not help being rather anxious about Helen and her safe return. The road ran along the backbone of a ridge, so that, while still some distance from the house, he was able to get a glimpse of the driveway through an opening in the trees, and he gave a breath of relief as he saw the car. His anxiety had been quite unfounded; his wife was home. Approaching the house itself, he saw Joan on the lawn teaching tricks to the new collie pup, and she was so engrossed with the task that she failed to hear the crunch of his shoes on the gravel. "Hello, Joan!" he called cheerily. The girl, on her knees in the grass, dropped the puppy's paws and turned half toward him, the drooping brim of her hat shielding whatever expression may have been in her dark eyes. "Hello, Kirk," she answered, getting to her feet. "I see Helen's got home. I was just a little worried about her--she being new about driving the car." "Yes, she's home," nodded Joan. "She drove in about five minutes ago; I think you'll find her dressing for dinner." She essayed a brief and fairly successful laugh. "I won't keep you, Kirk; I know you'll be anxious to see her after being away from her all these hours." Gilmore hesitated for a moment. "See here, Joan," he protested, "I believe you're trying to get away from me. Somehow I've got the feeling that you've been trying to avoid me ever since you got back from your trip. You haven't told me a thing about it." "I--I didn't think you'd want to be bothered; all your time belongs to Helen. I've thanked you for the glorious treat, haven't I? I know I intended to." "There are no thanks due, Joan; you earned it--and more. Atchinson was speaking of some passages in 'Rogue's Paradise' only to-day, and, bless your life, most of them were yours!" "It's nice of you to say that, Kirk," she murmured lifelessly; he would never know--must never know--what a labor of love it had been. There was an uncomfortable pause, during which Gilmore fumbled at his watch chain, and Joan bent over to pull gently at the puppy's ears. "I guess there's something else I ought to say," he floundered. "I feel mighty guilty about Helen taking your room. I don't blame you for being hurt about it. I did my best to make her understand, but----" "We'll not talk about that, Kirk. The house belongs to you; it was quite within your right. I'll get accustomed to my new quarters, and it will be all right, Kirk--quite all right."