Mark took a deep breath and strode forward, pulling his cuffs over his hands, which at that moment seemed to him to emerge from his sleeves large and unlovely as two hams. The place always abashed him, its sober air of wealth, its effortless refinement, its dainty feminine atmosphere. No brutal male presence--one never thought of Chinese servants as men--seemed ever to have disturbed with a recurring, habitual foot its almost cloistral quietude. Now with memories of his own home fresh in his mind, dinner in the kitchen, the soiled tablecloth, the sizzling pans on the stove, he felt he had no place there and was an impostor. Their greeting increased his discomfort. They were so kind, so hospitable, making him come into the dining room and take a cup of coffee. It was an uprush of that angry loyalty, that determination to hold close to his own, which made him say as soon as he was seated, "I've been home for two weeks." "Home?" said Lorry gently. And, "Where _is_ your home?" came from Aunt Ellen, as if she had just recognized the fact that he must have one somewhere but had never thought about it before. The sound of his voice, gruff as a day laborer's after these flute-sweet tones, increased his embarrassment. Nevertheless he determined that he would tell them about his home. "Up in Sacramento County not far from the tules. My father's a rancher, has a little bit of land there." "Yes, Charlie Crowder told us," said Lorry. She didn't seem to notice the "little bit of land," it was just as if he'd said four or five thousand acres and described a balconied house with striped awnings and cushioned chairs. He cast a glance of gratitude toward her, met her eyes and dropped his own to his cup. There they encountered his hand, holding the coffee spoon, the little finger standing out from the others in a tricksy curve. With an inward curse he straightened it, sudden red dyeing his face to the temples. He began to hate himself and didn't know how to go on. Chrystie unexpectedly came to the rescue. "Sacramento County," she exclaimed with sudden animation, "not far from the tules! There was a holdup round there two or three weeks ago. I read it in the papers." Aunt Ellen moved restlessly. She wanted to get to her chair in the drawing-room. "Holdup?" she murmured. "They're always having holdups somewhere." "Not like this," said Chrystie. "It was a good one--Knapp and Garland--and they shot Wells Fargo's messenger." "It was while I was there," said Mark, "up toward the foothills above our ranch."