t Payne and Annette as he spoke. So far as
his expression was concerned the Senator, whom he addressed, did not
exist for him. His lips uttered words for Fairclothe's ears; but his
lazy, heavily lidded eyes searched Payne and the girl to the bottom of
their souls. Roger returned the look steadily; and by the flickering
mockery in Garman's eyes he knew that it was Garman's ring that gleamed
on Annette's finger.

XXIV

"I was just thanking Senator Fairclothe for influencing me in the
purchase of land down here," said Roger deliberately. "If it hadn't
been for him, Garman, I wouldn't be here now."

"If that is so," returned Garman, "we must thank him, too. For we
wouldn't be deprived of your company for a lot--would we, Annette?"

"Mr. Payne was speaking of the land he bought," said Annette. "The
land with the water on it."

"Yes, dear." Garman's mocking eyes were on Payne as he spoke. "Water
galore. But Payne is a worker. Youth, strength, high hopes, ambition!
Payne will have that water off in a hurry. We'll be glad to see that
done, won't we, Senator?"

"Yes, indeed. Improvement work----"

"Mrs. Livingston was asking for you and Annette, Senator," said Garman.

Payne nearly started at the change in his tone. It was a tone of
command, of dismissal, and to Roger's astonishment Annette and her
father obeyed. Garman strolled into the pergola and dropped into a
chair, a huge, oppressive figure in white silk. Lazily and from
beneath the half-closed heavy lids his eyes watched Annette as she
walked toward the house. With an air of playful possession he followed
the play of her young body in motion, the quick, strong flip of her
foot upon the hard sand of the path, the firmness of her limbs, the
sway of her rounded torso, the poise of her neck and head. A smile
lifted his mustache, revealing the thick red mouth beneath. Indolently
he breathed through half-parted lips.

"Payne," he said thickly, "there goes Love. There goes the dream of
all young fools. Aren't you dreaming a little yourself, Payne, eh?--I
see you are. You have looked upon the dream in the flesh, and hope has
been born in your young, manly bosom. Hope? No; belief. Belief in
the realization of ideals. What damn fools all you young cubs are, to
be sure!"

"Well," said Roger calmly, "I like that. I like to have a man ask me
to be his guest and try to make things pleasant for me by calling me a
damn fool."

"If," retorted