sunlight. To the east lay the silver glimmer
of a tree-fringed lake; beyond, a church spire among the trees and a
winding country road traveled by the solitary van of green and white.

"A singular conveyance, is it not, Poynter?" inquired the older man, his
careful articulation blurred by a pronounced foreign accent. Staring
intently at the sunlit road, he added: "Is it a common mode of
travel--here in America?"

The younger man, a lean, sinewy chap with singularly fine eyes of blue
above lean, tanned cheeks, frowned thoughtfully.

"By no means," said he pleasantly. "Indeed it's quite new to me. Seems
to have blowy white things at the sides like window curtains, doesn't it?"

"A nomadic young woman, I am told," shrugged the older man carelessly.
He stood watching the dusty trail of the nomad with narrowed, thoughtful
eyes, unaware that his companion's eyes had wandered somewhat expectantly
to the Westfall lake.

"Baron Tregar!" whispered Ann Sherrill in a remote corner of the veranda
to a girl she had brought up to the farm with her late the night before.
"Has a _real_ air of distinction, hasn't he, Susanne? And such deep,
dark, _compelling_ eyes. Rather Arabic, I think, but mother says Magyar.
Dick says he's immensely interested in the war possibilities of
aeroplanes and fearfully patriotic. Touring the States, I believe. Dad
picked him up in Washington. Philip's teaching him to fly. Philip was
up once before, you know, in the spring and Dad urged him to come up
again and bring the Baron along to learn aeroplaning. Philip _Poynter_,
of course, the Baron's secretary!" in scandalized italics. "Didn't you
know, _really_? . . . _The_ Philip Poynter. . . . And I say it's
absolutely _sinful_ for a man to be so good-looking as long as the
world's monogamous."

"Quarreled with his father or something, didn't he?" asked Susanne
vaguely.

"Quarreled!" exclaimed Ann righteously. "Well, I should say he did. My
dear, the young man's temper simply splintered into a million pieces and
he hasn't found them yet. Flatly refused to take a _cent_ of his
father's money because he'd discovered it was made dishonestly. _Think_
of it! And Dad says it's true. Old Poynter is a pirate, an
unscrupulous, money-mad, villainous old pirate and he did something or
other most unpleasant to Dad in Wall Street. And would you _believe_ it,
Susanne, Philip went fuming off huffily to some ridiculous little
mountain kingdom in Eu