I always do. And anyway," with a Frenchy little shrug which she
had adopted and adapted last season, "I am going."

"But," exclaimed her mother, already routed, as was inevitable, and now
looking toward the essential considerations, "what in the world will
every one say? And think?"

In the tall mirror before her Gloria regarded her boots and
riding-breeches critically. Then her little hat and the blue flannel
short. Too mannish? Never, with Gloria in them, an expression in very
charming curves of triumphant girlhood.

"What in the world was Mark King thinking of?" demanded her mother.

"What do you suppose?" said Gloria tranquilly "He would have been very
rude if he hadn't been thinking of your little daughter. Besides, he had
very little to do with the matter."

"Gloria!"

"And, what is more, there was a moon. Remember that, mamma." She tied
the big scarlet silk handkerchief about her throat and turned to be
kissed. Mrs. Gaynor looked distressed; there were actually tears trying
to invade her troubled eyes, and her hands were nervous.

"But you will be gone all day!"

"Oh, mamma!" Gloria began to grow impatient. "What if I am? Mr. King is
a gentleman, isn't he? He isn't going to eat me, is he? Why do you make
such a fuss over it all? Do you want to spoil everything for me?"

"You know I don't! But----"

"We've had nothing but 'buts' since I told you. I should have left you a
note and slipped out." She bestowed upon the worried face a pecking
little kiss and tiptoed to the door.

"Wait, Gloria! What shall I tell every one? They're your _guests_, after
all----"

"Tell them I asked to be excused for the day. Beyond that you are rather
good at smoothing out things. I'll trust you."

"But--I mean _and_--and Mr. Gratton?"

"Oh, tell him to go to the devil!" cried Gloria. "It will do him no end
of good." And while Mrs. Gaynor stared after her she closed the door
softly and went tiptoeing downstairs and out into the brightening dawn,
where Mark King awaited her with the horses.

From behind a window-curtain Gloria's mother watched the girl tripping
away through the meadow to the stable, set back among the trees. King
was leading the saddled horses to meet her; Gloria gave him her
gauntleted hand in a greeting the degree of friendliness of which was
gauged by the clever eyes at the window; friendliness already arrived at
a stage of intimacy. King lifted Gloria into her saddle; Gloria's little
laugh had in it