ctrola and urged them to
dancing, she found Gloria ready for bed but standing before her window,
looking out at the first stars. Mrs. Gaynor discovered in her little
daughter a new, grave-eyed uncommunicativeness. Gloria usually had so
many bright, gushing things to say after a day of pleasure, but to-night
she appeared oddly preoccupied.

"Oh, I'm dead tired, mamma," she said impatiently. "Nothing happened.
I'll tell you to-morrow--anything I can think of. And now, good-night;
I'm so sleepy." She kissed her mother and added: "I didn't tell Mark
good-night--"

"_Mark_? Already, my dear?"

"He was outside with papa," said Gloria, slipping into bed. "Will you
tell him good-night for me?"

"He's gone," retorted her mother, with a certain relish.

"Gone!" Gloria sat up, a very pretty picture of consternation. "Where?"

"Back into the woods. Where he came from, of course. I actually think,"
and she laughed deprecatingly though with a shrewd watchful look to mark
her daughter's quick play of expression, "that that man couldn't sleep
two consecutive nights under a roof. His clothes smell like a pine-tree.
He wouldn't understand us any more than we could understand him, I
suppose."

Gloria was silent and thoughtful. Then, "Good-night, mamma," she offered
again, her cheek snuggled against her pillow. "And put out the light as
you go, please."

Mrs. Gaynor, accepting her dismissal though reluctantly, sighed and went
out. As the door closed Gloria tossed back the covers and sprang out of
bed, going again to her window. She watched the mountain ridges turn
blacker and blacker; saw a second star and another and suddenly the
heavens filled with a softly glimmering spray of twinkling lights; she
heard the night wind rustling, tender with vague voices. A tiny shiver
shook the white shoulders, a shiver not from cold, since not yet had the
air chilled. Through her mind swept a dozen vivid pictures, all of King,
most of them of him out there, alone with the night and the mountains.
But she saw him also as she had seen him to-day; riding before her,
breaking the alders aside, catching her as she fell. All day she had
thrilled to him. Now, more than ever, she thrilled. She imagined she saw
him striding along through the big boles of the pines; passing swiftly,
silent and stern, through a faint patch of light; standing in the
shadows, listening, his keen eyes drilling the obscurity; passing on
again, vigorous, forceful, determined,