party,' almost sat down on my head, there in the darkness.
Not that I'd have minded being a settee for them. But they
might have told one of the watchmen about my being there. And
I'd have had to hunt other sleeping quarters."

She did not abate that look of quizzical appraisal. And again
Gavin Brice began to feel uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

"You have an orange grove, back yonder, haven't you?" he
asked, abruptly, nodding toward a landward stretch of ground
shut off from the lawn by a thickset hedge of oleander.

"How did you know?" she demanded in suspicion. "By this light
you couldn't possibly see--"

"Oddly enough," he said, in the pleasant drawling voice she
was learning to like in spite of her better judgment, "oddly
enough, I was born with a serviceable pair of nostrils. There
is a scent of orange blossoms hanging fairly strong in the
air. It doesn't come from the mangrove swamp behind me or
from the highroad in front of your house or from the big
garden patch to the south of the lawn. So I made a Sherlock
Holmes guess that it must be over there to northward, and
pretty close. Besides, that's the only direction the Trade
Winds could bring the scent from."

Again, she was aware of a certain glibness in his tone,--a
glibness that annoyed her and at the same time piqued her
curiosity.