wift moods by her live
fancies.

She grew wildly homesick for town. A theatre, dance, a ride through the
park. Activity. And people. It was for her mother that she consented to
remain here another week. Mrs. Gaynor declared that she must have a few
more days of rest; she was worn out from a year of going eternally,
entertaining or being entertained. Gloria, yielding, plunged into an
orgy of letter-writing. She answered letters weeks old; she scribbled
countless bright and unnecessary notes. Also she succeeded in getting
her mother to drive with her frequently to Tahoe, to call on those of
their friends there who had come to the mountains so early in the
season. Several times they remained overnight at the Tavern.

It was after one of these absences that Jim Spalding, the old
timber-jack, told Mrs. Gaynor in his abashed stammer that Mark King had
showed up while they were gone. Gloria, on her way to her room, whirled
and came back, and extracted the tale in its entirety, pumping it out of
the brief, few-worded old Spalding in jerky details. King had appeared
late yesterday afternoon, coming out of the woods. Looked like he'd been
roughin' it an' goin' it hard, at that. Had told Jim he wanted to
telephone. Had stuck around for a while gettin' his call through; had
eaten supper with Jim; had gone back into the woods just about dark.
That was all Jim knowed about it.

Rather, that was all that he supposed he knew until Miss Gloria was
done with him. She dragged other bits of information to the surface.
King had phoned her father; they had talked ten minutes; Mr. Gaynor was
to telephone to the log house again to-morrow or next day. There would
be a message for King; mos' likely from Coloma. King wanted to know
something; Ben was to find out; King would turn up within a few days for
the message.

Mrs. Gaynor that same day said to her daughter in a way so casual that
Gloria immediately was on the alert:

"You've been very sweet to stay up here in this lonely place with me,
dear. I am ready to go at any time now. Shall we go to-morrow?"

"Mother thinks she is so deep!" was Gloria's unspoken comment.

"We've such a lot of packing to do," said Gloria, with an assumption of
carelessness far more artistic than her mother's. "And I'm as sleepy and
lazy as an owl after being up so late last night." Her yawn, softly
patted by four pink-and-white fingers, was as ingenuous as a kitten's.
"I'm really in no hurry, mamma. To-morrow