"On the contrary," said Stephanie, tapping an egg with the tip of her spoon, "I think you would have been scared into the quickest action you have ever known." "What do you mean?" Gladys demanded. "I mean that you would have made a record run for the fence," slowly measuring the salt. "Is that what you did?" "Precisely what I did--and I just made it." "You just made what?" "The fence." "Do you mean the bull actually attacked you?" "No--he didn't get quite close enough to _actually_ attack--he missed me by the fraction of a hair. I went over the fence just as he banged into it. We had a nerve-racking finish--the bull and I. I won it by an eyelash." Gladys laughed merrily. "Your pardon, dear! But I really can't help it--the idea of you and Overton's bull sprinting it across the field! It's too ridiculous. And you won, dear, you won!" She laughed again. "All the bull could do was to stand at the fence and look." "If he had any sense of propriety he _didn't_ look," Stephanie remarked--"especially when I was going over. I must have resembled a Broadway beauty chorus." "And no one but the bull on the ball-headed row!" Gladys bubbled. "Possibly--I was in too much haste to observe whether Mr. Porshinger saw or not." "Porshinger!" cried Gladys. "Porshinger! What in Heaven's name was he doing in Overton's pasture?" "Walking with me!" was the demure reply. "Walking with you!--Stephanie Lorraine, will you explain yourself?" "Sure!" said Stephanie, and explained. At the end, Gladys selected a tiny gold-tipped cigarette from the case on the dressing table and carefully lighted it. "What is your plan?" she asked, from back of a thin cloud of smoke. "I haven't any plan," Stephanie replied, pouring herself another cup of coffee. "It was only a reconnoissance, made on the spur of the moment----" "Made on the horns of the bull! I should say," Gladys smiled. "What is your next move?" "I don't know." "Do you want me to ask him to Criss-Cross?" "No--not yet." "Well--if you do, I'll ask him," said Gladys. "We're in this thing to win, you know. But it would not be wise, I think, to have him and Montague Pendleton at the same time." "No, decidedly no!" said Stephanie--"at least, for the present." XII A MATTER OF LIGHT Pendleton was late in arriving at Criss-Cross. He was the last of the party to come in, and he hastened to the quarters, the servant showed him, in the bachelor end over the billiard room in a separate angle of the house. Once there, he flung off his business suit, plunged through his bath, flourished his safety, cutting himself in his haste (who ever saw a safety that was safe?) and then proceeded to dash into the clothes laid out for him. "Damn!" he exclaimed forcefully, as a stud that had been insecurely fastened slipped from its hole and retired gracefully under the bureau. He was down on his knees searching for it when there was a knock on his door. "Come in!" he shouted, without looking up.