But when morning came he was critical of the clothes his valet offered him, spent an hour in getting himself groomed for public appearance, then appeared at the Country Club for breakfast instead of driving to the station.  And after breakfast, he put off his departure “until to-morrow or next day,” and went to see Mr. and Mrs. Hastings.  And what more natural then than that Henrietta should take him to the Villa d’Orsay “to show you how charmingly Del has installed herself.”  “And perhaps,” said Henrietta, “she and Arden Wilmot will go for a drive.  He has quit the bank because they objected to his resting two hours in the middle of the day.”  What more natural than that Adelaide should alter her resolution under the compulsion of circumstance, should spend the entire morning in the gardens, she with Ross, Henrietta with Arden?  Finally, to avoid strain upon her simple domestic arrangements in that period of retrenchment, what more natural than falling in with Ross’s proposal of lunch at Indian Mound?  And who ever came back in a hurry from Indian Mound, with its quaint vast earthworks, its ugly, incredibly ancient potteries and flint instruments that could be uncovered anywhere with the point of a cane or parasol; its superb panorama, bounded by the far blue hills where, in days that were ancient when history began, fires were lighted by sentinels to signal the enemy’s approach to a people whose very dust, whose very name has perished?  It was six o’clock before they began the return drive; at seven they were passing the Country Club, and, of course, they dined there and joined in the little informal dance afterwards; and later, supper and cooling drinks in a corner of the veranda, with the moon streaming upon them and the enchanted breath of the forest enchaining the senses.

What a day!  How obligingly all unpleasant thoughts fled!  How high and bright rose the mountains all round the horizon of the present, shutting out yesterday and to-morrow!  “This has been the happy day of my life,” said Ross as they lingered behind the other two on the way to the last ’bus for the town.  “The happiest”—­in a lower tone—­“thus far.”

And Del was sparkling assent, encouragement even; and her eyes were gleaming defiantly at the only-too-plainly-to-be-read faces of the few hilltop people still left at the club house.  “Surely a woman has the right to enjoy herself innocently in the twentieth century,” she was saying to herself.  “Dory wouldn’t want me to sit moping alone.  I am young; I’ll have enough of that after I’m old—­one is old so much longer than young.”  And she looked up at Ross, and very handsome he was in that soft moonlight, his high-blazing passion glorifying his features.  “I, too, have been happy,” she said to him.  Then, with a vain effort to seem and to believe herself at ease, “I wish Dory could have been along.”

But Ross was not abashed by the exorcism of that name; her bringing it in was too strained, would have been amusing if passion were not devoid of the sense of humor.  “She does care for me!” he was thinking dizzily.  “And I can’t live without her—­and won’t!”