"In a mild way, the journey's something of an adventure," Carmen
suggested. "Doesn't that appeal to a man?"

"It does," Foster agreed. "One might imagine that there was enough
adventure here, but it really isn't so. The lone trail has a mineral
claim at the end of it; you look forward to the elevator company's
receipt when you break the new furrow. Hardship gets as monotonous as
comfort; you want something fresh, a job, in fact, that you don't
undertake for money. Of course, if you look at it economically, this is
foolish."

"I like you better as a sentimentalist than a philosopher," Carmen
answered. "It's the former one goes to when one wants things done.
However, if you would like a dance----"

She danced well and Foster knew there were men in the hall who envied
him. He, moreover, imagined that Carmen knew it would be remarked that
she had banished her other attendants and shown him special favor. This,
of course, would not trouble her, because Carmen generally did what she
pleased, but he felt inclined to wonder about her object. He knew her
well enough to think she had an object. When the music stopped she said,
"Now you may take me in to supper."

Supper was served in an ante-room, but, although this was contrary to
local custom, the guests came in when they liked and were provided with
small, separate tables. Instead of Foster's leading, Carmen guided him
to a quiet nook, partly screened by cedar branches, where they could see
without being seen. He thought it significant that a spot with such
advantages should be unoccupied, but this did not cause him much
surprise. Things generally happened as Carmen wanted, and it was a