He noted, as he came nearer, swinging along down the slope and seeing the little valley with its green meadow and azure lake, how Ben had had a log dam thrown across the pond’s lower end, backing up the water and making it widen out; he saw a couple of graceful canoes resting tranquilly on their own reflections; a pretty bathing-house already green with lusty hop-vines.  Ben Gaynor had been spending money, a good deal of money.  And no one knew better than Mark King that Ben had been close-hauled these latter years.  He shrugged, telling himself to pull up short, and not find fault with his friend, or what his friend did, or with those whom his friend loved.

An hour later he came to the grove of sugar-pines back of the house.  Here he paused a moment, though he was all eagerness for his meeting with Gaynor.  He had seen a number of persons coming out of the house, a dozen or more, pouring out brightly, as gay as butterflies, men and women.  Their laughter floated out to him through the still sunny morning, the deeper notes of men, a cluster of rippling notes from a girl.  He wanted to see Gaynor, not a lot of Gaynor’s San Francisco guests.  No, not Gaynor’s; rather the friends of Gaynor’s womenfolk.  It was King’s hope that they were going down toward the lake; thus he would avoid meeting them.  He’d come in at the back, have his talk with Ben, and be on his way without the bore of shaking a lot of flabby hands and listening to a lot of gushing exclamations.

He stood very still where he was, unseen as he leaned against a light-and-shadow-dappled pine.  A girl broke away from the knot of summer-clad figures, ran a few steps down the path toward the lake, poised gracefully, executed a stagy little pose with head back and arms outflung as though in an ecstasy of delight that the world was so fair.  She was a bright spot of colour with her pink dress and white shoes and stockings, and lacy parasol and brown hair, and for a little his eyes went after her quite as they would have followed the flight of a brilliant bird.  Then, as in sheer youth, as one who during a night of refreshing sleep has been steeped body and soul in the elixir that is youth’s own, she yielded her young body up to an extravagant dance, whirling away as light as thistledown across the meadow.  Hands clapped after her; voices, men’s voices, filled her ears with a clamour of praise as extravagant as her own dancing; the guests went trooping gaily after her.  King seized his chance and went swiftly toward the house.  As he went he noted that the girl alone was watching him; she was facing him, while the others had turned their backs upon the house.  She had abandoned her dance and was standing very still, obviously interested in the rough-clad, booted figure which had seemed so abruptly to materialize from the forest land.

Ben Gaynor had seen him through a window and met him at the door.  Their hands met in the way of old friendship, gripping hard.  Further, Ben beat the dust out of his shoulders with a hard-falling open palm as he led the way inside.