The inquiry was directed at me.

I shook my head.

The Skeptic fell into an attitude of mock despair. Then he sat up. "I'm
going to go down and hide behind the big tree at the bend," he declared.
"I want to see Philo when she----"

The Gay Lady spoke to me. "Do you think I'm getting that K too heavy?"
she asked.

The Skeptic laughed, and strolled away--not in the direction of the
trout stream.

Dahlia and the Philosopher came back just as luncheon was served. Dahlia
was looking pinker than ever, and I thought the Philosopher's tan had
rather a pinkish hue, also. I felt obliged to ask Dahlia to stay to
luncheon and she promptly accepted. Throughout the meal she was very
gay, sitting at my round table between the Philosopher and the Skeptic,
and plying both with attentions. It is a singular phrase to use, in
speaking of a girl, but I know no other that applies so well--in
Dahlia's case.

After luncheon the Philosopher bolted. His movements are usually
deliberate, but I never saw a quicker exit made from a dining-room which
has only two doors. One door leads into the hall, the other to the
pantry. The rest of us went out the hall door. When we reached the porch
the Philosopher was missing. There is no explanation except that he went
out by the pantry door.