And, as a matter of fact, though Arthur had not been sincere, Dory did look "all right." It would have been hard for any drapery not to have set well on that strong, lithe figure. And his face--especially the eyes--was so compelling that he would have had to be most elaborately overdressed to distract attention from what he was to what he wore. On the way to the Rangers, he let Arthur do the talking; and if Arthur had been noticing he would have realized that Dory was not listening, but was busy with his own thoughts. Also Arthur would have noticed that, as they came round from the stables to the steps at the end of the front veranda, and as Dory caught sight of Adelaide, half-reclining in the hammock and playing with Simeon, his eyes looked as if he had been suddenly brought from the darkness into the light. "Here's Dory Hargrave, Del," cried Arthur, and went on into the house, leaving them facing each other. "So glad you've come," said Adelaide, her tone and manner at their friendliest. But as she faced his penetrating eyes, her composure became less assured. He looked straight at her until her eyes dropped--this while they were shaking hands. He continued to look, she feeling it and growing more and more uncomfortable. "Why did you send for me?" he asked. She would have liked to deny or to evade; but neither was possible. Now that he was before her she recalled his habit of compelling her always to be truthful not only with him but--what was far worse--also with herself. "Did Arthur tell you I asked him to bring you?" she said, to gain time. "No," was his reply. "But, as soon as he asked me, I knew."