Daunted but not beaten, Blount meant to continue the quest in the afternoon.  But man proposes, and a small dea ex machina may dispose.  At the cafe family luncheon, at which Blount was careful to make his appearance, not only because Patricia was there, but also for the sake of keeping the kinsman peace his father had begged for, it transpired that Patricia had been promised an auto drive to Fort Parker, the military reservation sixteen miles to the westward, and that there were difficulties.  The senator’s wife took his arm and explained her dilemma at the table dispersal.

“It is parade day at the Fort, you know, and Patricia has set her heart on going.  I don’t know how I came to be so absurdly thoughtless, but I promised her before I remembered that this is the Kismet Club election afternoon, and if I don’t go, they’ll make me president again in spite of everything,” she said in low tones as they were leaving the cafe.  “I simply can’t serve another year; and at the same time, I do so dislike to disappoint Patricia.  She is such a dear girl!” Mrs. Honoria was strictly within the bounds of truth in claiming to have forgotten the date of the Kismet election of officers; but it was equally true that the club would re-elect her, present or absent, since she was its founder and chief patroness.

Blount saw the pointing of all this with perfect clarity, and he had no need to assure himself that it had every ear-mark of another expedient to get him out of the way.  But while he was with Mrs. Honoria and listening to her persuasive little appeals it was much harder to maintain the antagonistic attitude than it was when she figured—­at a distance—­merely as his father’s second wife and his mother’s supplanter.  Foolish?  Oh, yes; but at times when the star of impulse is in the ascendant every man hath a fool in his sleeve.

“It is too bad to disappoint her,” he found himself saying, matching the little lady’s low tone.  “If I wasn’t so terribly busy—­”

“I know; and just now, with the election so near, you must be busier than ever.  I suppose I shall have to explain to Patricia, and it hurts me, when she is going home so soon.”

“Going home?” echoed the victim.

“Yes; in a few days now.  The professor has already overstayed his leave of absence, so he says.”

Blount clenched a figurative fist and shook it savagely at an unkind fate.  Nevertheless, he fell.

“If you can shift your responsibility to my shoulders, Mrs. Blount—­” he began, but she would not let him finish.

“Oh! that is so good of you, Evan.  Take the little car, and be sure to ask the garage man to put in new batteries.  The magneto isn’t working very well.  And be here by half past one if you can.  The parade is at half past two, you know.”