d day. Sunday turned out to
be unexpectedly lamblike, as only a March day can be, with real sunshine
that warmed the end of one's nose instead of laughing as it tweaked it,
as the lying February sunshine had done.

"But warmly you must dress yourself," Von Gerhard warned me, "with no
gauzy blouses or sleeveless gowns. The air cuts like a knife, but it
feels good against the face. And a little road-house I know, where one
is served great steaming plates of hot oyster stew. How will that be for
a lark, yes?"

And so I had swathed myself in wrappings until I could scarcely clamber
into the panting little car, and we had darted off along the smooth lake
drives, while the wind whipped the scarlet into our cheeks, even while
it brought the tears to our eyes. There was no chance for conversation,
even if Von Gerhard had been in talkative mood, which he was not. He
seemed more taciturn than usual, seated there at the wheel, looking
straight ahead at the ribbon of road, his eyes narrowed down to
mere keen blue slits. I realized, without alarm, that he was driving
furiously and lawlessly, and I did not care. Von Gerhard was that sort
of man. One could sit quite calmly beside him while he pulled at the
reins of a pair of runaway horses, knowing that he would conquer them in
the end.

Just when my face began to feel as stiff and glazed as a mummy's, we
swung off the roadway and up to the entrance of the road-house that was
to revive us with things hot and soupy.

"Another minute," I said, through stiff lips, as I extricated myself
from my swathings, "and I should have been what Mr. Mantalini described
as a demnition body. For pity's sake, tell 'em the soup can't be too hot
nor too steaming for your lady friend. I've had enough fresh air to last
me the remainder of my life. May I timidly venture to suggest that a
cheese sandwich follow the oyster stew? I am famished, and this place
looks as though it might make a speciality of cheese sandwiches."

"By all means a cheese sandwich. Und was noch? That fresh air it has
given you an appetite, nicht wahr?" But there was no sign of a smile
on his face, nor was the kindly twinkle of amusement to be seen in his
eyes--that twinkle that I had learned to look for.

"Smile for the lady," I mockingly begged when we had been served.
"You've been owlish all the afternoon. Here, try a cheese sandwich. Now,
why do you suppose that this mustard tastes so much better than the kind
one gets at ho