The trip to Sausalito was almost intolerable. On the train to Mill Valley, his anxiety smoldered till his spirit was ashes. His mind fought all the way up the mountain track, faring to and fro, sinuously, as the line wound, in tortuous loops, gaining altitude in tempered grades. As they rose, the bay unfolded, shimmering below, curving about the peninsula of San Francisco, where, amidst the pearl-gray, the windows of the city caught, here and there, the level rays from the vivid west. The air was cool and salt. As they rounded a spur, the Pacific burst upon them, miles and miles of twinkling sparks on the dullness of the sea floor. A bank of fog hovered upon the horizon. Just above it the sun poised, then sank, bloody red, tingeing the cloud with color and sending streamers to the zenith. Still his mind urged the train to its climb. It was as if he put his shoulder to the car to impel it upward in his haste, so intense was his expectancy. So, at last, the train rolled up to the station by the Tavern.
There was a crowd waiting upon the platform, and his eyes sought here and there for Clytie. There she was, incongruous with the party—Cayley, easy, jocose, elegant—Mrs. Page, full-blown, sumptuous and glossy, abandoned to frivolity, her black hair blowing in the wind—and Gay P. Summer, jaunty, pink-and-white, immaculate in outing attire. There was another lady whom Granthope did not know. He walked rapidly up to them, calm, now, and confident, equal to the situation, whatever it might be.
Mrs. Page pounced upon him with a little scream of delight, and towed him up to the group. Clytie's narrow eyes widened in surprise, and she turned paler as she looked at him in vain for an answer to her signal of distress.
"Why, Mr. Granthope!" Mrs. Page shouted. "Did you ever in your life! What fun! Aren't you a duck to come—you're just the man we want! If I had imagined that you could be induced to come up here, I would have let you know! But then, probably, you wouldn't have come! We needed another man so badly! I'm so glad! I think you know all of us here, except Miss Cavendish, don't you? Miss Cavendish, let me present Mr. Granthope. You know I've told you about him."
Miss Cavendish smiled, looked him over with undisguised amusement, and with a gesture passed him over to Clytie. Clytie gave him a cold hand, looked him steadfastly in the eyes, then dropped hers and waited for her cue.
"It's very good of you to take me in, Mrs. Page. I hope you don't mind my inviting myself. I only just ran up for the night, and I don't want to interfere with your plans at all."
"Oh, don't say a word! We were dying for another man. We're all delighted. Now we're six, you see—just right. You can flirt with the chaperon."
"Come and have a drink, first thing," said Gay P. Summer, taking upon himself seriously the conventional obligations of host. "You must be cold, Granthope, without an overcoat. We'll be back in a minute, Violet. Come on, Cayley!"
He led the way into the bar. Granthope followed with Cayley, watching for a word in private. "I want to speak to you alone," he tossed over his shoulder. Cayley nodded.
After the formalities were over, Granthope remarked: "Well, I think I'll go in and get a room, Summer. You go out and get the ladies while Cayley and I go up-stairs a minute."