Of course, she would do anything in the world for Kate; but that was no reason why Kate should be selfish about little things.  If she didn’t want to wait until Marion came down, she could walk home alone.  There was a good road, and Marion certainly would never think of objecting.  She believed in absolute personal liberty in little things.  Therefore she meant to stay up on the peak just exactly as long as she wanted to stay, regardless of what Kate wanted to do.  She had not tried to force Kate to come up with her—­if Kate would just stop to think a minute.  When Kate sat down on that rock and said she wouldn’t climb another step, Marion had not urged her at all.  She had waited until she was sure that Kate would not change her mind, and then she had come on up without any fuss or argument.  And she would stay until she was ready to go down.  It would be silly to spoil her pleasure now by worrying.  She would like to see a sunset from up here.  She had her gun with her, and anyway, she could get home easily before dark.  She believed she would stay, just this once.  Really, it would do Kate good to discover that Marion liked to please herself once in a while.

Which was all very well for Marion Rose, but rather hard on Jack, who was not in a mood for company.  He smoked hopefully for a half hour or so.  Most tourists got enough of it in a half hour.  They began to feel the altitude then, or found the wind disagreeable, or they were in a hurry to climb down to the lake and fish, or they had to think about the trip home.  Besides, their vocabularies were generally exhausted in half an hour, and without superlatives they could not gaze upon the “view”; not with any satisfaction, that is.  But this tourist could be heard moving here and there among the rocks, with long lapses of silence when she just stood and gazed.  Jack listened and waited, and grew more peevish as the lagging minutes passed.  If he went out now, he would have to go through the whole performance.

The telephone rang.  And while Jack was sulkily getting to his feet, he heard a girl’s voice answering the phone.  The nerve of her!  What business had she inside, anyway?  Must a fellow padlock that door every time he went out, to keep folks from going where they had no business to be?  He went angrily to the station; much more angrily than was reasonable, considering the offense committed against him.

He saw a girl in a short khaki skirt and high laced boots and a pongee blouse belted trimly with leather, bending her head over the mouthpiece of the telephone.  She had on a beach hat that carried the full flavor of Venice in texture and tilt, and her hair was a ripe corn color, slicked back from her temples in the fashion of the month.  Graceful and young she was, groomed as though thousands were to look upon her.  Normally Jack’s eyes would have brightened at this sight, his lips would have curved enticingly, his voice would have taken the tone of incipient philandering.  But in his present mood he snapped at her.