Miss Dene was far from unwilling to be pumped. In fact, she meant to be pumped; and that afternoon, while Mrs. Harland was writing letters and Falconer was with his secretary, whom he could not escape even in the country, she invited Mrs. Gaylor to sit with her on the broad veranda, beneath which the river ran singing a never-ending song. The two pretty women, the one dark the other fair, made a charming picture, and neither was oblivious of the fact; but it would not have occurred to Carmen that her self-appreciation might be put into words. However, she laughed when Theo said: "What a shame there aren't any men to admire us! We're both looking too adorable, aren't we? I should love to snapshot you in that Indian hammock, though the picture would lose a lot without colour. And it's very unkind of you if you wouldn't like to have a picture of me in my green rocking-chair on the scarlet rug." This gave Carmen a chance to touch upon the subject in her heart without, as she thought, arousing any suspicion. "You look awfully pretty," she said; "and this balcony is lovely, hanging over the river. It's quite different from my home; though mine's nice, too. And we have got one man--Mr. Falconer." "He's engaged," said Theo. "Oh, is he? I didn't know that. Well, and Mr. Hilliard will come, perhaps. Have you met him?" "Yes," replied Theo promptly; "at Santa Barbara. He was motoring with Mrs. May. I thought him one of the handsomest men I ever saw. But I'm afraid he isn't coming. She isn't either--of course." Carmen's face crimsoned; then her colour died away and left her sickly white, all but the little pink spots of rouge she had put on in the morning. "Motoring with Mrs. May!" she repeated, harshly, then controlled her voice by a violent effort. "Was Mrs. May expected here?" "Was expected," Theo echoed with emphasis. She was enjoying herself thoroughly; literally enjoying "herself." This was almost as good as if Hilliard had not refused the invitation and Angela had not basely slipped out of the engagement after practically accepting. "She won't come. I suppose she thinks she's having more fun where she is. Though if Mr. Hilliard had come I haven't the ghost of a doubt that she would. Do you know Mr. Hilliard well?" This in a tone as innocent as that of a little child talking of its dolls. "Pretty well," answered Carmen, moistening her lips. "Who is Mrs. May? I heard of her once. She's a friend of the Morehouses." "She's a new importation," replied Theo lightly. "So far as I can make out, she and Mr. Hilliard met in New York." "Is she--pretty?" "Yes, very. Fair hair and gray eyes that look dark. Mourning is becoming to her." "Is she a widow?"