rywhere were herds of sleek cattle sighing and blowing
contentedly in the cool evening air. Away to the west lay the
mountains, blue and soft as a pillow of velvet for the head of the
dying day; overhead, inverted islands of brass and copper floated
lazily in an inverted sea of azure and opal; up from the southwest came
the breath of the far Pacific, mild, and soft, and gentle.

"We started at the wrong end in our nation building," Dave was saying.
"We started to build cities, leaving the country to take care of
itself. We are finding out how wrong we were. Depend upon it, where
there is a prosperous country the cities will take care of themselves.
We have been putting the cart before the horse--"

But Irene's eyes were on the sunset; on the slowly fading colours of
the cloudlands overhead. Something of that colour played across her
fine face, mellowing, softening, drawing as it seemed the very soul to
cheeks and lips and eyes. Dave paused in his speech to regard her, and
her beauty rushed upon him, engulfed him, overwhelmed him in such a
poignancy of tenderness that it seemed for a moment all his resolves
must be swept away and he must storm the citadel that would not
surrender to siege. . . . Only action could hold him resolute; he
pressed down the accelerator until the steel lungs of his motor were
drinking power to their utmost capacity and the car roared furiously
down the stretches of the country road.

It was dusk when he had burnt out his violence, and, chastened and
spent, he turned the machine to hum back gently to the forgotten city.
Irene, by some fine telepathy, had followed vaguely the course of his
emotions; had followed them in delicious excitement, and fear, and
hope. She sensed in some subtle feminine way the impulse that had sent
him roaring into the distances; she watched his powerful hand on the
wheel; his clear, steady eye; the minute accuracy with which he
controlled his flying motor; and she prayed--and did not know what or
why she prayed. But a colour not all of the dying sunlight lit her
cheek as she guessed--she feared--she hoped--that she had prayed that
he might forget his fine resolves--that his heart might at last
out-rule his head--

In the deepening darkness her fingers found his arm. The motion of the
car masked the violence of her trembling, but for a time the pounding
of her heart would not allow her speech.

"Dave," she said at length, "I want to tell you that I think y