smooth and still as gray silk, widened to the west and south
without so much as a wrinkle to roughen the surface. Only to the
east, where the sun looked over a shoulder of a higher hill, it
flamed up into a blinding diamond iridescence. The surrounding
land lay between sky and water, hushed to a Sunday stillness. Far
off across the lake by Richardson's they heard a dog bark, and the
sound came fine and small and delicate. At long intervals the
boat stirred with a gentle clap-clapping of the water along its
sides. From the nearby shore in the growth of manzanita bushes
quail called and clucked comfortably to each other; a bewildered
yellow butterfly danced by over their heads, and slim blue dragon-
flies came and poised on their lines and fishing-rods, bowing
their backs.

From his seat in the bow, Condy cast a glance at Blix. She was
holding her rod in both hands, absorbed, watchful, very intent.
She was as trim as ever, even in the old clothes she had worn for
the occasion. Her round, strong neck was as usual swathed high
and tight in white, and the huge dog-collar girdled her waist
according to her custom. She had taken off her hat. Her yellow
hair rolled back from her round forehead and cool pink cheeks like
a veritable nimbus, and for the fiftieth time Condy remarked the
charming contrast of her small, deep-brown eyes in the midst of
this white satin, yellow hair, white skin, and exquisite pink
cheeks.

An hour passed. Then two.

"No fish," murmured Condy, drawing in his line to examine the
bait. But, as he was fumbling with the flies he was startled by a