The object of this indifference and scorn gazed long and hard at the
blob of light across the ravine. His heart was beating fast, and his
body tingled with a strange excitement, which made itself manifest in
a mixture of impatient frowns and prophetic smiles.

"If it wasn't such a beastly night," he was muttering in one breath,
and, "Still, it's just the sort of a night we want," in the next. He
was looking at his watch in the light from the window when an
automobile whizzed up the wet gravel drive and came to a stop in front
of the club steps. As Dauntless re-entered the house from the
verandah, a tall young man in a motor coat and goggles came in through
the opposite door. They paused and looked steadily at each other, then
nodded briefly. The crowd of loungers glanced at the two men with
instant curiosity and then breathed easily. The man who was going to
marry Miss Thursdale and the man who wanted to marry her were
advancing to shake hands--a trifle awkwardly, perhaps, but more or
less frankly.

"Rough weather for motoring," remarked Dauntless, nervously.
Windomshire removed his cap and goggles.

"Beastly. I just ran over for something to warm the inside man. Won't
you join me?" His voice was pleasant to the ear, his manner easy and
appealing. He was not so good looking as Dauntless, true, but he had
the air of a thoroughbred in his make-up--from head to foot.

"Sit down here," called Mrs. Scudaway readily, creating a general
shift of chairs. The two men hesitated a moment, nervousness apparent
in both, and then sat down quickly. The Englishman was next Mrs.