uane, who liked him
immensely--"oh, how are you?" offering his hand to Reginald Wye, a
hard-riding, hard-drinking, straight-shooting young man, who knew
nothing on earth except what concerned sport and the drama. He and his
sister of the sapphire eyes and brilliant cheeks were popularly known as
the Pink 'uns.

Jack Dysart arrived presently, graceful, supple, always smilingly,
elaborate of manner, apparently unconscious that he was not cordially
admired by the men who returned his greeting. Later, Rosalie, came,
enchantingly demure in her Greuze-like beauty. Chardin might have made
her; possibly Fragonard. She did not resemble the Creator's technique.
Dresden teacups tinkled, ice clattered in tall glasses, the two
fountains splashed away bravely, prettily modulated voices made
agreeable harmony on the terrace, blending with the murmur of leaves
overhead as the wind stirred them to gossip. Over all spread a calm
evening sky.

"Tea, dear?" asked Geraldine, glancing up at Mrs. Dysart. Rosalie shook
her head with a smile.

Lang, the second man, was flitting about, busy with a decanter of
Scotch. A moment later Rosalie signified her preference for it with a
slight nod. Geraldine, who sat watching indifferently the filling of
Mrs. Dysart's glass, suddenly leaned back and turned her head sharply,
as though the aroma from glass and decanter were distasteful to her. In
a few minutes she rose, walked over to the parapet, and stood leaning
against the coping, apparently absorbed in the landscape.

The sun hung low over the flat little tree-clad mountains, which the
lake, now inlaid with pink and gold, reflected. A few fallow deer moved
quietly down there, ruddy spots against the turf.

Duane, carrying his glass with him, rose and stepped across the strip
of grass to her side, and, glancing askance at her, was on the point of
speaking when he discovered that her eyes were shut and her face
colourless and rigid.

"What is it?" he asked surprised. "Are you feeling faint, Geraldine?"

She opened her eyes, velvet dark and troubled, but did not turn around.

"It's nothing," she answered calmly. "I was thinking of several things."

"You look so white----"

"I am perfectly well. Bend over the parapet with me, Duane. Look at
those rocks down there. What a tumble! What a death!"

He placed his glass between them on the coping, and leaned over. She did
not notice the glass for a moment. Suddenly she wheeled, as though he
had sp