es, however, when, looking up, he saw
Harriet Dorne and Avery enter the room. They passed him, engaged in
conversation, and stood by the rear door looking out into the storm.
It was evident to Eaton, although he did not watch them, that they were
arguing something; the girl seemed insistent, Avery irritated and
unwilling. Her manner showed that she won her point finally. She
seated herself in one of the chairs, and Avery left her. He wandered,
as if aimlessly, to the reading table, turning over the magazines
there; abandoning them, he gazed about as if bored; then, with a wholly
casual manner, he came toward Eaton and took the seat beside him.

"Rotten weather, isn't it?" Avery observed somewhat ungraciously.

Eaton could not well avoid reply. "It's been getting worse," he
commented, "ever since we left Seattle."

"We're running into it, apparently." Again Avery looked toward Eaton
and waited.

"It'll be bad in the mountains, I suspect," Eaton said.

"Yes--lucky if we get through."

The conversation on Avery's part was patently forced; and it was
equally forced on Eaton's; nevertheless it continued. Avery introduced
the war and other subjects upon which men, thrown together for a time,
are accustomed to exchange opinions. But Avery did not do it easily or
naturally; he plainly was of the caste whose pose it is to repel, not
seek, overtures toward a chance acquaintance. His lack of practice was
perfectly obvious when at last he asked directly: "Beg pardon, but I
don't think I know your name."

Eaton was obliged to give it.

"Mine's Avery," the other offered; "perhaps you heard it when we were
getting our berths assigned."

And again the conversation, enjoyed by neither of them, went on.
Finally the girl at the end of the car rose and passed them, as though
leaving the car. Avery looked up.

"Where are you going, Harry?"

"I think some one ought to be with Father."

"I'll go in just a minute."

She had halted almost in front of them. Avery, hesitating as though he
did not know what he ought to do, finally arose; and as Eaton observed
that Avery, having introduced himself, appeared now to consider it his
duty to present Eaton to Harriet Dorne, Eaton also arose. Avery
murmured the names. Harriet Dorne, resting her hand on the back of
Avery's chair, joined in the conversation. As she replied easily and
interestedly to a comment of Eaton's, Avery suddenly reminded her of
her father. After a min