l be back before
night. It would mean only a day's outing and no harm done. Won't you
come, Gloria? Please come!" He pulled out his watch again. "We've just
got time to catch the boat comfortably." He called to the taxi-driver,
"To the ferry," and jumped in.

"But----"

"You can come as far as the ferry, anyway. Even if you won't give me a
day of motoring. It's wonderful out in the country this time of year.
And----"

When they came to the ferry there was no time for debating the matter;
the crowd was pouring toward the last boat, and Gloria, her eyes bright
with the joy of her escapade, went with him through the little gate
where the tickets were presented for the last boat across the bay. It
was unconventional, as she saw quite clearly. But to Gloria
unconventionality was a condition fairly divided into two widely
separated browsing-grounds; there was the thing which was just "daring";
there was that other which was ugly because it was "compromising." This
adventure promised to fall into the safer category; to be off motoring
with Mr. Gratton from three o'clock in the morning until late afternoon
was what she considered a "lark."

They laughed together in anticipation as they crossed the bay. They sat
where they could watch the red and green lights, reflected like topazes
and rubies in the shimmering water, fall away and dwindle as the
silhouette of the embarcadero receded. On the electric train they were
whizzed among many sleepy folk into a sleeping town, Oakland, drowsing
and silent. Gratton summoned a somnolent taxi-driver and they were
whisked through the cool air to a garage. He left her a moment, sitting
in the taxi, while he ran in and arranged for a roadster.

Gloria, left to her own thoughts, began to regret having come. The
thing, reviewed in solitude, was "crazy." She grew vaguely distressed.
She wanted to go back to San Francisco--but there would be no boat now
until full morning, three or four hours; she could not get home before
seven or half-past seven o'clock. She tried to recall a friend on this
side of the bay to whom she could go at this time of night--day, rather!
Her lips shaped to a half smile.

"I've got the car." Gratton was back offering to help her down. "And I
phoned your mother."

"Was she----?"

"She trusts you with me, Gloria," he said quickly.

She let him help her into the car he had hired. Gratton took the wheel
and turned into San Pablo Avenue. The street was deserted and