Gratton was nobody's fool, save his own, and both marked and resented
King's attitude. His heavy lids had a fluttering way at times during
which his prominent eyes seemed to flicker.

"What's the chance with Gus Ingle's 'Secret' this year, Mr. King?" he
demanded silkily.

King wheeled on him.

"What do you know about it?" he said sharply. "And who has been talking
to you?"

Gratton laughed, looked wise and amused, and strolled away.

At luncheon Mrs. Gaynor placed her guests at table out on the porch,
conscious of her daughter's watchful eye. When all were seated, Mark
King found himself with Miss Gloria at his right and an unusually plain
and unattractive girl named Georgia on his left. Everybody talked, King
alone contenting himself with brevities. Over dessert he found himself
drifting into _tête-á-tête_ with Miss Gloria. They pushed back their
chairs; he found himself still drifting, this time physically and still
with Gloria as they two strolled out through the grove at the back of
the log house. There was a splendid pool there, boulder-surrounded; a
thoroughly romantic sort of spot in Gloria Gaynor's fancies, a most
charming background for springtime loitering. The gush and babble of the
bright water tumbling in, rushing out, filled the air singingly. Gloria
wanted to ask Mr. King about a certain little bird which she had seen
here, a little fellow who might have been the embodiment of the stream's
joy; she knew from her father that King was an intimate friend of wild
things and could tell her all about it. They sat in Gloria's favourite