The Kowloon departed early Monday morning. Thinking it over as he watched her whip around the Gillard light, Rod decided that honors were easy for the time being. But he very nearly determined to force an open clash if Grove tried to carry it off again.
This clash, which Rod foresaw, and which he perhaps subconsciously welcomed, was nearly due. They had Hawk's Nest to themselves, its cool quiet rooms and corridors, the pleasant porches and grounds bright with flowers and scented shrubs, its sweep of velvet lawn and rolling acres of parked forest, where the great trees lifted plumed heads to the sun. Into that blended atmosphere of peace and permanence and beauty no jarring note came until another week-end brought back the Kowloon. This time Norquay senior was home. Rod sat back to see if Grove meant to carry on with his design of making Mary's road as rough as lay in his power,—and also to see how their father would take such obvious malice, if it were shown.
But Norquay senior missed all the calculated slights Grove and his guests adroitly managed to put on Rod and his wife. It seemed to Rod that they played up to Grove's lead with accomplished skill. It was a new sort of game and Mary Norquay was "It." They found it amusing. Or was it only that they were an ill-bred lot? Rod was not sure of Grove's company, but he was sure of Grove. Grove saw to it, subtly, that Rod should understand what he was driving at. Grove enjoyed the situation. Rod's self-control didn't deceive him. He knew that Rod was fuming inside. He took opportunity to let Rod know that he knew.
But something more fundamental brought matters to a head. Lacking that, Rod would probably have ended by complete indifference to what Grove and his friends did or said.
The Kowloon was due to leave Monday afternoon. At ten in the morning, Rod sat reading in the library. Phil was writing letters at a desk in one corner. Norquay senior was walking in the grounds with Mary. From his seat Rod could see the tall tweed-clad figure sauntering beside his wife. His ill-humor vanished. That was answer enough to Grove and his clique. He glanced indifferently up at Grove's entrance. That gentleman didn't seem so gay and festive this morning. He bit off a cigar end with unnecessary force and sat smoking. He scowled. His eyes were a trifle glassy, the lids reddened. Faint shadows showed beneath the lower lids.
"The morning after the night before sits heavier on him than it used to," Rod thought cynically. "The pace is beginning to tell. Damn fool."
He resumed his reading.
The butler came in.
"The foreman of the Valdez camp and two men want to see you, sir," he addressed Phil.
"Send 'em here," Phil replied, without looking up.