It was of David he was thinking as he drove along the country roads on a day in early August. The fields were yellowing to the harvest and a great peace lay upon the face of Nature, veiled lightly with the long continued heat. When, therefore, he overtook the object of his thoughts walking along the dusty road with every appearance of discomfort, he drew up his horse and spoke to him. “I haven’t seen you to speak with you, since your return, Mr. Whitcomb,” he said civilly. “Won’t you get in and ride with me? I shall be glad to—talk with you.” David stared with undisguised astonishment; then a derisive gleam shone in his blue eyes. “Why—er—certainly, Mr. Jarvis,” he said, and sprang in and seated himself with cool assurance. “It wouldn’t have occurred to me to ask you for a ride,” he went on, “but I’m not sorry you offered to give me a lift. It’s deucedly unpleasant walking.” Jarvis met his inquiring look gravely. “You are making quite a stay in the East,” he said. “Do you mean to settle here?” The quick blood rose in David’s face. “I haven’t made up my mind,” he said. “I’m—er—just looking around a bit.” Jarvis was silent, casting about in his mind for a suitable opening for what he wished to say. David spared him the trouble. With his usual sensitiveness to the moods of his companions—a sensitiveness which at times amounted almost to divination—he looked sidewise at Jarvis, a smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “I’ve been to see Miss Preston,” he said confidentially, “at the farm.” “Yes?” Jarvis observed non-committally. “You know Miss Preston, I believe?” said David. Jarvis hesitated. “I have had business relations with Miss Preston,” he said coolly. He was beginning to feel an exceeding dislike of the well-dressed, smiling young man at his side. “Yes,” agreed David, shrugging his shoulders. “she’s mentioned the fact to me.” Jarvis tightened his grasp on the reins after his old choleric fashion, and the mare leaped forward as if expecting the cut of the ready lash. “I understand Miss Preston has been relieved of—her anxieties somewhat,” he said evenly. “I—was glad to know it.” David’s lip curled. “Indeed!” he syllabled with a touch of insolence. “Well, I’ve no doubt Barbara—Miss Preston—will be duly grateful, when—er—I mention the fact of your interest in her affairs.” “You’ll not mention it, I hope,” Jarvis said. After a brief silence he added, “You understand me, of course.” “Well, no,” drawled David. “I don’t believe I do.” He looked whimsically at Jarvis, as if expecting further elucidation. But the older man was paying strict attention to his horse, his lips set in forbidding lines. David yielded to one of his sudden impulses. “Of course,” he burst out; “you won’t care; you’ve got your money out of it; but Barbara is deucedly unhappy.” “Ah?” Jarvis’s note of interrogation was barely audible.