"Just when we are getting comfortable," her husband growled pleasantly; and he made no move to rise. The women sat at ease about the tea-table. Their talk, beginning with the marvelous Ruggles babies, had run lightly past clothes and help, and fallen into the hands of Mrs. Goodyear. She, too, was full of San Francisco. Apart, under the grape arbor, Teresa Morse and her brother were snaring lizards--playing like two well-behaved babies miraculously grown tall. "There's Eleanor," suddenly spoke Teresa. At the word, she dropped her lizard, started forward; and stopped as she came out into full view of the road. Eleanor, in fresh white, bareheaded under her parasol, was approaching between two young men. The slighter of the two men moved a little apart; the heavier, in whom Mrs. Tiffany recognized with some apprehension the new protege, Mr. Bertram Chester, walked very close up. He was peering under the parasol, which Eleanor dropped in his direction from time to time without visibly effecting his removal. It seemed from his wide gestures, from the smile which became apparent as he drew nearer, that he was talking ardently. In the other man, Mrs. Tiffany recognized that Mr. Heath who had the boy friendship with Bertram Chester. He was putting in a word now and then, it appeared. When he spoke, Eleanor turned polite attention upon him; and then resumed her guarded attitude toward that dynamo buzzing at her left. Insensible of the company on the lawn, they passed behind the grape arbor which fringed the gate and which hid them temporarily from view; and the one-sided conversation became audible. "It wasn't a _patch_ on fights I've had with 'em. Down home, I used to fight steers right along. That's nothing to a nigger who used to work for us in Tulare. He'd jump on their backs and reach over and bite their noses till they hollered quits. Sure thing he did!" It died out as they turned in at the gate and faced the group about the trees. Mrs. Goodyear made a gesture of an imaginary lorgnette toward her high-bridged nose. Mrs. Tiffany gathered herself and ran over to the gate. It was Mr. Heath--she noticed as she advanced--who was blushing. Bertram Chester stood square on his two feet smiling genially. As for Eleanor, she maintained that sweet inscrutability of face which became, as years and trouble came on, her great and unappreciated personal asset. Young Chester spoke first: "I knew Miss Gray was coming down this afternoon--so I laid for her on the road--didn't I, Miss Gray?" "Very nice of you, I'm sure," murmured Mrs. Tiffany, though she bit her lip before she spoke--"won't you come over to meet our friends?" Eleanor had darted ahead, to the pats of the women and the adoring hugs of Teresa Morse.