He smiled--a slow, reluctant smile, but undeniably attractive. Said he: "Because you threw away your cigarette." "You object to women smoking?" "No," said he. His tone made her feel how absurd it was to suspect him of such provincialism. "You object to MY smoking?" suggested she; laughing, "Pump! Pump!" "No," said he. "Then your remark meant nothing at all?" He was silent. "You are rude," said she coldly, rising to go into the house. He said something, what she did not hear, in her agitation. She paused and inquired: "What did you say?" "I said, I am not rude but kind," replied he. "That is detestable!" cried she. "I have not liked you, but I have been polite to you because of Stanley and Mrs. Brindley. Why should you be insulting to me?" "What have I done?" inquired he, unmoved. He had risen as she rose, but instead of facing her he was leaning against the post of the veranda, bent upon his seaward vigil. "You have insinuated that your reasons for not liking me were a reflection on me." "You insisted," said he. "You mean that they are?" demanded she furiously. She was amazed at her wild, unaccountable rage. He slowly turned his head and looked at her--a glance without any emotion whatever, simply a look that, like the beam of a powerful searchlight, seemed to thrust through fog and darkness and to light up everything in its path. Said he: "Do you wish me to tell you why I don't like you?" "No!" she cried hysterically. "Never mind--I don't know what I'm saying." And she went hastily into the house. A moment later, in her own room upstairs, she was wondering at herself. Why had she become confused? What did he mean? What had she seen--or half seen--in the darkness and fog within herself when he looked at her? In a passion she cried: "If he would only stay away!" VI BUT he did not stay away. He owned and lived in a small house up on the Rumson Road. While the house was little more than a bungalow and had a simplicity that completely hid its rare good taste from the average observer, its grounds were the most spacious in that neighborhood of costly, showy houses set in grounds not much more extensive than a city building lot. The grounds had been cleared and drained to drive out and to keep out the obnoxious insect life, but had been left a forest, concealing the house from the roads. Stanley Baird was now stopping with Keith, and brought him along to the cottage by the sea every day.