They paddled a little faster. In a few minutes their dock came into view. “It’s funny,” he said, “that you should think some of our men have arrived from the North. I don’t see anybody on the dock.” “It’s Mr. Recklow,” she said in a low voice. “He is seated on our veranda.” As it was impossible to see the house, let alone the veranda, Cleves made no reply. He beached the canoe; Tressa stepped out; he followed, carrying the golf bags. A mousy light lingered in the shrubbery; bats were flying against a salmon-tinted sky as they took the path homeward. With an impulse quite involuntary, Cleves encircled his young wife’s shoulders with his left arm. “Girl-comrade,” he said lightly, “I’d kill any man who even looked as though he’d harm you.” He smiled, but she had not missed the ugly undertone in his words. They walked slowly, his arm around her shoulders. Suddenly he felt her start. They halted. “What was it?” he whispered. “I thought there was something white in the woods.” “Where, dear?” he asked coolly. “Over there beyond the lawn.” What she called the “lawn” was only a vast sheet of pink and white phlox, now all misty with the whirring wings of sphinx-moths and Noctuidæ. The oak grove beyond was dusky. Cleves could see nothing among the trees. After a moment they went forward. His arm had fallen away from her shoulders. There were no lights except in the kitchen when they came in sight of the house. At first nobody was visible on the screened veranda under the orange trees. But when he opened the swing door for her a shadowy figure arose from a chair. It was John Recklow. He came forward, bent his strong white head, and kissed Tressa’s hand. “Is all well with you, Mrs. Cleves?” “Yes. I am glad you came.” Cleves clasped the elder man’s firm hand. “I’m glad too, Recklow. You’ll stop with us, of course.” “Do you really want me?” “Of course,” said Cleves. “All right. I’ve a coon and a surrey behind your house.” So Cleves went around in the dusk and sent the outfit back to the hotel, and he himself carried in Recklow’s suitcase. Then Tressa went away to give instructions, and the two men were left together on the dusky veranda. “Well?” said Recklow quietly. Cleves went to him and rested both hands on his shoulders: “I’m playing absolutely square. She’s a perfectly fine girl and she’ll have her chance some day, God willing.” “Her chance?” repeated Recklow. “To marry whatever man she will some day care for.” “I see,” said Recklow drily. There was a silence, then: “She’s simply a splendid specimen of womanhood,” said Cleves earnestly. “And intensely interesting to me. Why, Recklow, I haven’t known a dull moment—though I fear she has known many——” “Why?” “Why? Well, being married to a—a sort of temporary figurehead—shut up here all day alone with a man of no particular interest to her——” “Don’t you interest her?” “Well, how could I? She didn’t choose me because she liked me particularly.”