“He’ll be sore at coming in after the black flag,” chuckled Gene. “Kurt ain’t used to being second, but I don’t often get a chance at this car.”
Kurt didn’t come up to the house all that day until long after the dinner hour. He found Pen alone in the invitingly-furnished sitting room, the amber light from a shaded lamp bringing out the gleaming gold in her hair.
She looked up with a shy smile of welcome, and instantly he felt the charm a woman could bring to a room like this—a room full of rest and harmony—a haven to a man wearied from the day’s work.
He sat by the table opposite her—too content to desire his pipe.
“Where are they all?” he asked presently.
“Francis was tired and repentant after the excitement wore off and was quite ready to go to bed early. Billy and Betty followed suit. Mrs. Merlin has a headache.”
“How did you come to be riding with Gene this morning?” he asked abruptly.
“Mrs. Merlin asked us to go to her cottage for some things she needed. She thought Gene wouldn’t be able to find them.”
The natural tone of her reply and her utter lack of surprise or resentment at his question quite appeased him.
“It’s a little cool to-night,” he said suddenly. “Wouldn’t you like to have a fire?”