It was dark when he reached Elm Tree Inn.  The ocean rolled, a long black line flecked with faint foam, along the shore, and luminous with a coming moon.  Two dim figures, like moving shadows, went down the sand picked out against the path of the moon.  Save for those all was lonely, up and down.  Courtland shivered slightly and almost wished he had selected some more cheerful spot for the meeting.  He had not realized how desolate a sea can be when it is growing cold.  Nevertheless, it was majestic.  It seemed like eternity in its limitless stretch.  The lights in far harbors glinted out in the distance down the coast.  Somehow the vast emptiness filled him with sadness.  He felt as if he were entering upon anything but a pleasant reunion, and half wished he had not come.

Courtland ran his car up to the entrance and sprang out.  He was glad to get inside, where a log fire was crackling.  The warmth and the light dispelled his sadness.  Things began to take on a cheerful aspect again.

“I suppose you haven’t many guests left,” he said, pleasantly, as he registered.

“Only him, sir!” said the clerk, pointing to the entry just above Courtland’s.

“James T. Aquilar and wife, Seattle, Washington,” Courtland read, idly, and turned away.

“They been here two days.  Come in a nerroplane!” went on the clerk, communicatively.

“Fly all the way from Seattle?” asked Courtland, idly.  He was looking at his watch and wondering if he should order supper or wait until Tennelly arrived.

“Well, I can’t say for sure.  He’s mighty uncommunicative, but he’s given out he flies ’most anywhere the notion takes him.  He’s got his machine out in the lot back o’ the inn.  You oughtta see it.  It’s a bird!”

“H’m!” said Courtland.  “I must have a look at it in daylight.  I’m looking for a friend up from the city pretty soon.  Guess it would be more convenient for you if we dined together.  I’ll wait a bit.  Meantime, let me see what rooms you have.”

When Courtland came back to the office and sat down before the fire to wait, the spell of sadness seemed to have vanished.

He sat for half an hour, with his head thrown back in the easy-chair, watching the flames, thinking back over old college memories that the thought of Tennelly made vivid again.  In the midst of it he heard steps on the veranda.  Some one from outside unlatched the door and flung it open.  A wild, careless laugh floated in on the cold breath of the sea.  Courtland came to his feet as if he had been called!  That laugh had gone through his heart like a knife, with its heartless baby-like mirth.  It was Gila!  Had Tennelly played him false, after all, and brought her along?  Was this some kind of a ruse to get them together?  For he knew that Tennelly was distressed over their alienation, and that he understood to some extent that it was on account of Gila that he always avoided accepting the many invitations which were continually pressed upon him to come down to the city and be with his friends once more.