King wheeled on him.

“What do you know about it?” he said sharply.  “And who has been talking to you?”

Gratton laughed, looked wise and amused, and strolled away.

At luncheon Mrs. Gaynor placed her guests at table out on the porch, conscious of her daughter’s watchful eye.  When all were seated, Mark King found himself with Miss Gloria at his right and an unusually plain and unattractive girl named Georgia on his left.  Everybody talked, King alone contenting himself with brevities.  Over dessert he found himself drifting into tete-a-tete with Miss Gloria.  They pushed back their chairs; he found himself still drifting, this time physically and still with Gloria as they two strolled out through the grove at the back of the log house.  There was a splendid pool there, boulder-surrounded; a thoroughly romantic sort of spot in Gloria Gaynor’s fancies, a most charming background for springtime loitering.  The gush and babble of the bright water tumbling in, rushing out, filled the air singingly.  Gloria wanted to ask Mr. King about a certain little bird which she had seen here, a little fellow who might have been the embodiment of the stream’s joy; she knew from her father that King was an intimate friend of wild things and could tell her all about it.  They sat in Gloria’s favourite nook, very silent, now and then with a whisper from Gloria, awaiting the coming of the bird.

Chapter V

“But, my darling daughter,” gasped Mrs. Gaynor, “you don’t in the least understand what you are about!”

“But, my darling mother,” mimicked Miss Gloria, light of tone but with all of the calm assurance of her years, “I do know exactly what I am about!  I always do.  And anyway,” with a Frenchy little shrug which she had adopted and adapted last season, “I am going.”

“But,” exclaimed her mother, already routed, as was inevitable, and now looking toward the essential considerations, “what in the world will every one say?  And think?”

In the tall mirror before her Gloria regarded her boots and riding-breeches critically.  Then her little hat and the blue flannel short.  Too mannish?  Never, with Gloria in them, an expression in very charming curves of triumphant girlhood.

“What in the world was Mark King thinking of?” demanded her mother.

“What do you suppose?” said Gloria tranquilly “He would have been very rude if he hadn’t been thinking of your little daughter.  Besides, he had very little to do with the matter.”

“Gloria!”

“And, what is more, there was a moon.  Remember that, mamma.”  She tied the big scarlet silk handkerchief about her throat and turned to be kissed.  Mrs. Gaynor looked distressed; there were actually tears trying to invade her troubled eyes, and her hands were nervous.

“But you will be gone all day!”

“Oh, mamma!” Gloria began to grow impatient.  “What if I am?  Mr. King is a gentleman, isn’t he?  He isn’t going to eat me, is he?  Why do you make such a fuss over it all?  Do you want to spoil everything for me?”