rallied every one at the table with the exception of, Howat noted,
Ludowika. Her hair was simply arranged and undecorated, she wore
primrose with gauze like smoke, an apparently guileless bodice with
blurred, warm suggestions of her fragrant body. Howat was conscious of
every detail of her appearance; she was stamped, as she was that
evening, indelibly on his inner being. He turned toward her but little,
addressed to her only the most perfunctory remarks; he was absorbed in
the realization that the most fateful moment he had met was fast
approaching. His father's cheerful voice continued seemingly
interminably; now it was a London beauty to which he affected to believe
David had given his heart. The latter replied stoutly:

"I brought that back safely enough; it's here the danger lies.
Humiliating to cross the ocean and then be lost in Canary Creek."

Gilbert Penny shot an obvious, humorous glance at Myrtle. She did not
meet it, but sat with lowered gaze. Caroline made a daring "nose" at
Howat; but he too failed to acknowledge her message. David's affair had
sunk from his thoughts. The drawing room was brilliantly lighted: there
was a constant stir of peacock silk, of yellow and apple green and coral
lutestring, of white shoulders, in the gold radiance of candles like
stiff rows of narcissi. Caroline drifted finally into the chamber back
of the dining room, and they could hear the tenuous vibrations of the
clavichord. Soon David had disappeared. The elder Penny discovered
Myrtle seated sullenly at her mother's side; and, taking her arm, he
escorted her in the direction of the suddenly silenced music.

Ludowika sat on a small couch away from the fireplace. She smiled at
Howat as he moved closer to her. She never did things with her hands, he
noticed, like the women of his family, embroidery or work on little