"Not since last week," she said, soothingly. "It usually happens after a
rain."

"I think I'll risk it then--although it did rain early this morning. I'll
do a moonlight down there this evening." And, turning to me: "If you know
as much about science as you do about art you won't have to remain here
long--I trust."

"What?" said I, very red.

He laughed a highly disagreeable laugh, and marched into the house.
Presently he bawled for dinner, and Wilna went away. For her sake I had
remained calm and dignified, but presently I went out and kicked up the
turf two or three times; and, having foozled my wrath, I went back to
dinner, realising that I might as well begin to accustom myself to my
future father-in-law.

It seemed that he had a mania for prunes, and that's all he permitted
anybody to have for dinner.

Disgusted, I attempted to swallow the loathly stewed fruit, watching
Blythe askance as he hurriedly stuffed himself, using a tablespoon, with
every symptom of relish.

"Now," he cried, shoving back his chair, "I'm going to paint a moonlight
by moonlight. Wilna, if Billy arrives, make him comfortable, and tell him
I'll return by midnight." And without taking the trouble to notice me at
all, he strode away toward the veranda, chewing vigorously upon his last
prune.

"Your father," said I, "is eccentric. Genius usually is. But he is a most
interesting and estimable man. I revere him."

"It is kind of you to say so," said the girl, in a low voice.

I thought deeply for a few moments, then:

"Who is 'Billy?'" I inquired, casually.

I couldn't tell whether it was a sudden gleam of sunset light on her
face, or whether she blushed.

"Billy," she said softly, "is a friend of father's. His name is William
Green."

"Oh."

"He is coming out here to visit--father--I believe."

"Oh. An artist; and doubtless of mature years."

"He is a mineralogist by profession," she said, "--and somewhat young."

"Oh."

"Twenty-four years old," she added. Upon her pretty face was an absent
expression, vaguely pleasant. Her blue eyes became dreamy and exquisitely
remote.

I pondered deeply for a while:

"Wilna?" I said.

"Yes, Mr. Smith?" as though aroused from agreeable meditation.

But I didn't know exactly what to say, and I remained uneasily silent,
thinking about that man Green and his twenty-four years, and his
profession, and the bottom of the crater, and Wilna--and striving to
satisfy myself that there was n