carriages,
and to the occupants of several Sidwell lifted his hat. Each as he did
so glanced at his companion curiously. The man was far too well known to
have his actions pass without gossip. At last they reached a semblance
of the open country, and a few minutes later Sidwell pointed out the row
of lights on the broad veranda of the big one-story club-house. The
affair had begun in the afternoon with a golf tournament, and when the
two drove up and Sidwell turned over his trotters to a man in waiting,
the entertainment was in full blast, although the hour was still early.

The building itself, ordinarily ample for the organization's rather
exclusive membership, was fairly crowded on this occasion. The
club-house had been given up to the orchestra and dancers, and
refreshments were being served on the lawn and under the adjoining
trees. Even the veranda had been cleared of chairs.

As Sidwell and his companion approached the place, he said in an
undertone, "Let's not get in the crush yet; if we do, we won't escape
all the evening." His dark eyes looked into his companion's face
meaningly. "I have something I wish especially to say to you."

Florence did not meet his eyes, but she well knew the message therein.
She nodded assent to the request.

Making a detour, they emerged into the park, and strolled back to a
place where, seeing, they themselves could not be seen. Sidwell found a
bench, and they sat down side by side. The girl offered no suggestion,
no protest. Since that row of lights had appeared in the distance she
had become passive. She knew beforehand all that was to take place;
something that she had decided to accede to, the details of which were
unimportant. An apathy which she did not attempt to explain held her.
The music heard so near, the glimpses of shifting, faultlessly dressed
figures, the loveliness of a perfect night--things that ordinarily would
have been intensely exhilarating--now passed by her unnoticed. Her
senses were temporarily in lethargy. If she had a conscious wish, it was
that the inevitable would come, and be over with.

From without this land of unreality she was suddenly conscious of a
voice speaking to her. "Florence," it said, "Florence Baker, you know
before I say a word the thing I wish to tell you, the question I wish to
ask. You know, because more than once I've tried to speak, and at the
last moment you have prevented. But you can't stop me to-night. We have
run on unders