So the afternoon passed amidst the sights and sounds of the September country.  And now and again they stopped to look at some fine view from a commanding height, or flew gayly down some inviting stretch of smooth road.  By and by they were at an old inn, well up on the top of the world, which King had had in mind from the start, and to which he had taken time, an hour before, to telephone and order things he had hoped she would like.  When the two sat down at a table in a quiet corner there were flowers and shining silver upon a snowy cloth, and the food which soon arrived was deliciously cooked, sustaining the reputation the place had among motorists.  And in the very way in which Anne Linton filled her position opposite Jordan King was further proof that, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, she belonged to his class.

Their table was lighted with shaded candles, and in the soft glow Anne’s face had become startlingly lovely.  She had tucked a handful of the shell-pink wild flowers into the girdle of her black dress, and their hue was reflected in her cheeks, glowing from the afternoon’s drive in the sun.  As King talked and laughed, his eyes seldom off her face, he felt the enchantment of her presence grow upon him with every minute that went by.

Suddenly he blurted out a question which had been in his mind all day.  “I had a curious experience a while back,” he said, “when I first got out into the world.  I was in Doctor Burns’s car, and we met some people in a limousine, touring.  They stopped to ask about the road, and there was a girl in the car who looked like you.  But—­she didn’t recognize me by the slightest sign, so I knew of course it couldn’t be you.”

He looked straight at Anne as he spoke, and saw her lower her eyes for a moment with an odd little smile on her lips.  She did not long evade his gaze, however, but gave him back his look unflinchingly.

“It was I,” she said.  “But I’m not going to tell you how I came to be there, nor why I didn’t bow to you.  All I want to say is that there was a reason for it all, and if I could tell you, you would understand.”

Well, he could not look into her face and not trust her in whatever she might elect to do, and he said something to that effect.  Whereupon she smiled and thanked him, and said she was sorry to be so mysterious.  He recalled with a fresh thrill how she had looked at him at that strange meeting, for now that he knew that it was surely she, the great fact which stayed by him was that she had given him that look to remember, given it to him with intent, beyond a doubt.

They came out presently upon a long porch overhanging the shore of a small lake.  The September sun was already low, and the light upon the blue hills in the distance was turning slowly to a dusky purple.  The place was very quiet, for it was growing late in the tourist season, and the inn was remote from main highways of travel.