st with Mr. Gerard."

"I guess I belong to the Mercury racer. But I'm officially chief tester
at the eastern factory, up the Hudson, except when there's a race on.
Since Darling French got married, I've raced with Gerard. Were you
aiming to collect that horseshoe with a nail in it, ahead there on the
course, or will it be an accident?"

"It's going to be an escape," smiled the driver, swerving deftly. "Tell
me about the first part of the ball game, won't you? I missed it, going
after my father and sister."

"Who, me? I ain't qualified. The curves I'm used to judging belong to a
different game. I guess, if you listen to what's being said behind us,
you'll get the better record. I'm enjoying the novelty of the automobile
ride, myself."

"You must be," Corrie agreed ironically. "You get so little of it. They
are not talking _real_ ball."

But he settled back to listen. In fact, it was the recent game that was
being discussed in the tonneau, with Mr. Rose as chief speaker and
Flavia as auditor. The party was of enchanting congeniality.

They drove first to the hotel where Gerard had been stopping.

It was quite six o'clock when the touring car rolled through Mr. Rose's
lawns and landscape-garden scenery, to come to a stop before the large,
pink stone house of many columns. Mr. Rose had a passion for columns.
Across the rug-strewn veranda a girl advanced to meet the arriving
motorists; an auburn-haired, high-colored girl who wore a tweed ulster
over her light evening gown.

"I thought you were never coming," she reproached, imperiously
aggrieved. "I hate waiting. And I want uncle to send Lenoir after my
runabout----"

The sentence broke as she saw the man beside Flavia, her gray eyes
widened in astonished interest.

"My niece Isabel Rose, Mr. Gerard," presented Mr. Rose. "And now you
have met all of us. Come on, Corwin B."

Isabel Rose gave her hand to the guest. She had the slightly hard beauty
of nineteen years and exuberant health; contrasted with Flavia, there
was almost a boyishness in her air of assurance and athletic vigor. But
in the studied coquetry of her glance at Gerard, the instant desire to
allure in response to the allure of this man's good looks, she showed
femininity of a type that her cousin never would understand.

"I should not have minded waiting," she declared, in her high-pitched,
clear-cut speech, "if I had known something pleasant was going to
happen."

"If that means me, Miss Rose--