Swift and active as was the brain, it fairly staggered under the task of instantly rearranging the world according to the new pattern:  for the first certainty to leap into sight was that the pattern was utterly changed by the events of the morning.  She had left the house, betrayed, defenseless save for a barren dignity, and she had re-entered it in triumph, or at least with a valid appearance of triumph, an appearance which had already tided her over the aching difficulty of the first meeting with Morrison and might carry her ... she had no time now to think how far.

Page and Arnold were still invisible when she emerged again on the veranda, and Mrs. Marshall-Smith pounced on her with the frankest curiosity.  “Sylvia, do tell us—­how in the world—­”

Sylvia was in the midst of a description of the race to the fire, as vivid as she could make it, when Arnold sauntered back and after him, in a moment, Page, astonishingly transformed by clothes.  His height meant distinction now.  Sylvia noted again his long, strong hands, his aquiline, tanned face and clear eyes, his thoughtful, observant eyes.  There was a whimsical quirk of his rather thin but gentle lips which reminded her of the big bust of Emerson in her father’s study.  She liked all this; but her suspiciousness, alert for affront, since the experience with Morrison, took offense at his great ease of manner.  It had seemed quite natural and unaffected to her, in fact she had not at all noticed it before; but now that she knew of his great wealth, she instantly conceived a resentful idea that possibly it might come from the self-assurance of a man who knows himself much courted.  She held her head high, gave to him as to Arnold a nod of careless recognition, and continued talking:  “Such a road—­so steep—­sand half-way to the hubs, such water-bars!” She turned to Morrison with her first overt recognition of the new status between them.  “You ought to have seen your fiancee!  She was wonderful!  I was proud of her!”

Morrison nodded a thoughtful assent.  “Yes, Molly’s energy is irresistible,” he commented, casting his remark in the form of a generalization the significance of which did not pass unnoticed by Sylvia’s sharp ears.  They were the first words he had spoken to her since his engagement.

“Luncheon is ready,” said Mrs. Marshall-Smith.  “Do come in.”  Every one by this time being genuinely hungry, and for various reasons extremely curious about the happenings back of Sylvia’s appearance, the meal was dedicated frankly to eating, varied only by Sylvia’s running account of the fire.  “And then Molly wanted to take the fire-fighters home, and I offered to walk to have more room for them, and Mr. Page brought me up the other side of Hemlock and over the pass between Hemlock and Windward and down past Deer Cliff, home,” she wound up, compressing into tantalizing brevity what was patently for her listeners by far the most important part of the expedition.