CHAPTER X



It was a stag lunch. As Forrest explained, the girls were "hen-
partying."

"I doubt you'll see a soul of them till four o'clock, when Ernestine,
that's one of Paula's sisters, is going to wallop me at tennis--at
least so she's threatened and pledged."

And Graham sat through the lunch, where only men sat, took his part in
the conversation on breeds and breeding, learned much, contributed a
mite from his own world-experiences, and was unable to shake from his
eyes the persistent image of his hostess, the vision of the rounded
and delicate white of her against the dark wet background of the
swimming stallion. And all the afternoon, looking over prize Merinos
and Berkshire gilts, continually that vision burned up under his
eyelids. Even at four, in the tennis court, himself playing against
Ernestine, he missed more than one stroke because the image of the
flying ball would suddenly be eclipsed by the image of a white marble
figure of a woman that strove and clung on the back of a great horse.

Graham, although an outlander, knew his California, and, while every
girl of the swimming suits was gowned for dinner, was not surprised to
find no man similarly accoutered. Nor had he made the mistake of so