Her gaze of meditation had been fixed on the road below. She had been half-consciously aware for some time of a figure which lost itself behind one of the hill-turns, reappeared again, became wholly visible in a band of late afternoon sunshine. It was Bertram Chester. The vision came without any shock of first surprise. He had been so much part of her thoughts that it seemed the most natural presence in the world. He was swinging along the road in her direction, heaving his massive shoulders with every stride; he stopped, took off his cap, wiped his forehead with a motion which, seen even at that distance, conveyed all his masculinity, and strode on again. Would he keep on along the road, or would he turn toward her up the Santa Eliza trail? And if he did keep on, would those roving eyes of his perceive her sitting there? Why not leave everything to that chance? If he looked up and saw her there on her rock, if he turned into the trail and passed her--that was a sign. She found herself, nevertheless, humanly striving to cheat fortune and the gods by fixing all her mind and eyes upon him, as though she would hypnotize him into looking up. But her mind and eyes had no power over him. He kept on with his even gait until he was lost behind the clump of trees which marked the branching of the trail. One chance was gone; she might not know the issue of the other until time and waiting informed her. How long before she should know? She crouched low on the rock and tried not to think. The twigs and pebbles crunched under heavy feet; the branches shook and rustled; a blue sweater became visible in the shadows. She looked away. "Well, I'll be--eternally blowed!" His voice came out like an explosion. Much as she expected it, she started. When, after a moment, she dared look up, he stood over her. "Are you going to run away?" he asked. His voice, with its ripple like laughter, showed that he expected nothing of the kind. "No," she answered, superfluously. He seemed, then, to feel the necessity for explanation. "I hadn't an idea--" "Neither had I." She broke in to anticipate his thought. Each was lying a little; and both knew it. She rushed to commonplaces. "Uncle Edward and I are at Mrs. Goodyear's bungalow over Sunday. It's our last expedition out of town before we go down to the ranch." "Well, I must have had a hunch! I'm at the Masters ranch over Sunday. I got a freak idea to take a walk alone. It sure was a hunch!" Soft sentiment tinged his voice. She answered nothing. "A hunch that you were alone here, nobody to interrupt--say, are you still sore on me?" "I--I didn't run away--" "Oh, I knew you'd get over it. I think even the Judge will get over it. I don't believe he'd care anyhow, if it wasn't for his old grouch on Senator Northrup." "Perhaps. He's said nothing--to me--"