he world and the
oldest. Each lover is a Columbus discovering an unknown continent."

In the hall the old clock chimed. "Nobody is to dress for dinner,"
Richard said, "if we are to ride afterward. I'll telephone for the
horses."

He telephoned and rode down later on his big Ben to bring the horses up.
As he came into the yard at Bower's he saw a light in the old stable.
Dismounting, he went to the open door. Anne was with Diogenes. The
lantern was set on the step above her, and she was feeding the old drake.
Her body was in the shadow, her face luminous. Yet it was a sober little
face, set with tired lines. Looking at her, Richard reached a sudden
determination.

He would ask her to ride with them to the ridge.

At the sound of his voice she turned and her face changed. "Did I startle
you?" he asked.

"No," she smiled at him. "Only I was thinking about you, and there you
were." There was no coquetry in her tone; she stated the fact frankly and
simply. "Do you remember how you put Toby in here, and how Diogenes hated
it?"

"I remember how you looked under the lantern."

"Oh,"--she had not expected that,--"do you?"

"Yes. But I had seen you before. You were standing on a rock with holly
in your arms. I saw you from the train throw something into the river. I
have often wondered what it was."

"I didn't want to burn my holly wreaths after Christmas. I hate to burn
things that have been alive."

"So do I. Eve would say that we were sentimentalists. But I have never
quite been able to see why a sentimentalist isn't quite as worthy of
respect as a materialist--however, I am not here to argue that. I want
you to ride with me to the ridge. To see the foxes by moonlight," he
further elucidated. "Run in and get ready. I am to take some horses up
for the others."

She rose and reached for her lantern. "The others?" she looked an inquiry
over her shoulder.

"Eve and her crowd. They are still at Crossroads."

She stood irresolute. Then, "I think I'd rather not go."

"Why not?" sharply.

She told him the truth bravely. "I am a little afraid of women like
that."

"Of Eve and Winifred? Why?"

"We are people of two worlds, Dr. Brooks--and they feel it."

His conversation with Eve recurring to him, he was not prepared to argue.
But he was prepared to have his own way.

"Isn't your world mine?" he demanded. "And you mustn't mind Eve. She's
all right when you know her. Just stiffen your backbone, and remember
tha