“See here.”  Elizabeth turned, and for an instant the motherhood deep in her softened the masculine lines of her face.  “Don’t you worry about Lucky Banks.  Perhaps he did go into the project to satisfy his conscience, but the deal was his, and he had the money to throw away.  Some men get their fun making over the earth.  When one place is finished, they lose interest and go looking for a chance to put their time and dollars into improving somewhere else.  Besides,”—­and she took this other woman into her abrupt and rare embrace—­“I happen to know he had an offer for his option and refused a good price.  Now, come, Marcia and Frederic have gone down to the dining-room, you know.  They were to order for us.”

But Beatriz was in no hurry.  “The train is on the bridge,” she said and caught a quick breath.  “Do you hear?  It is stopping at the station.”

Elizabeth, waiting at the open door, answered:  “We can see the new arrivals, if there are any, when we go through the lobby.”

Mrs. Weatherbee started across the room, but at the table she stopped to bend over the bowl of violets, inhaling their fragrance.  “Aren’t they lovely and—­prodigal enough to color whole fields?”

Elizabeth laughed.  “Frederic must have ordered wholesale, or else he forgot they were in season.”

Beatriz lifted her face.  “Did Mr. Morganstein send these violets?” she asked.  “I thought—­but there was no card.”

“Why, I don’t know,” said Elizabeth, “but who else would have ordered whole fields of them?”

Mrs. Weatherbee was silent, but she smiled a little as she followed Elizabeth from the room.  When they reached the foot of the staircase, the lobby was nearly deserted; if the train had left any guests, they had been shown already to their rooms.

The Morganstein table was at the farther end of the dining-room, but Frederic, who was watching the door when the young women entered, at once noticed the violets at Mrs. Weatherbee’s belt.

“Must have been sent from Seattle on that last eastbound,” he commented, frowning.  “Say, Marcia, why didn’t you remind me to order some flowers from town?”

Marcia’s calculating eyes followed his gaze.  “You would not have remembered she is fond of violets, and they seem specially made for her; you would have ordered unusual orchids or imported azaleas.”

Frederic laughed uneasily, and a purplish flush deepened in his cheeks.  “I always figure the best is never too good for her.  Not that the highest priced makes so much difference with her.  Look at her, now, will you?  Wouldn’t you think, the way she carries herself, that little gray gown was a coronation robe?  George, but she is game!  Acts like she expects Lucky Banks to drop in with a clear fifty thousand, when the chances are he’s gone back on his ten.  Well,” he said, rising as she approached, to draw out her chair, “what do you think about your customer now?  Too bad.  I bet you’ve spent his Alaska dust in anticipation a hundred times over.  Don’t deny it,” he held up his heavy hand in playful warning as he resumed his chair.  “Speculated some myself on what you’d do with it.  George, I’d like to see the reins in your hands for once, and watch you go.  You’d set us a pace; break all records.”