"It must be wonderful to do as one pleases," mused Martha, gazing out among the trees.
Clayton laughed again.
"Even that gets tiresome," he said. "The girl in the candy shop never wants a caramel after the third day. Everything grows tiresome after a while. Now that I've exhausted my list of fads, a horrible future confronts me—thirty-three years of age, enough money to supply my needs, and no new fad on which to waste the surplus. What am I to do?"
"There's always the Salvation Army," laughed Martha.
"Yes, or the Anti-Cigarette Society," he responded lightly.
A porter carrying two large suit-cases, each covered with many foreign labels, crossed the veranda toward the waiting 'bus at the foot of the steps. Another man, evidently a valet, followed with more luggage, and then a tall, distinguished-looking man of uncertain age emerged from the hotel. He gazed curiously at Martha, but his eyes lighted up with recognition when they fell upon Clayton.
"Hello, Clayton, what are you doing here?" he inquired loudly.
Clayton looked up with just a shadow of annoyance, but, with the well-bred air of a gentleman, rose and extended his hand.
"How are you, Gordon?" he said easily. "I haven't seen you since the Compton breach of promise case."
Gordon winced at the reminder, but gave utterance to a forced laugh.