"Only him, sir!" said the clerk, pointing to the entry just above Courtland's.
"James T. Aquilar and wife, Seattle, Washington," Courtland read, idly, and turned away.
"They been here two days. Come in a nerroplane!" went on the clerk, communicatively.
"Fly all the way from Seattle?" asked Courtland, idly. He was looking at his watch and wondering if he should order supper or wait until Tennelly arrived.
"Well, I can't say for sure. He's mighty uncommunicative, but he's given out he flies 'most anywhere the notion takes him. He's got his machine out in the lot back o' the inn. You oughtta see it. It's a bird!"
"H'm!" said Courtland. "I must have a look at it in daylight. I'm looking for a friend up from the city pretty soon. Guess it would be more convenient for you if we dined together. I'll wait a bit. Meantime, let me see what rooms you have."
When Courtland came back to the office and sat down before the fire to wait, the spell of sadness seemed to have vanished.
He sat for half an hour, with his head thrown back in the easy-chair, watching the flames, thinking back over old college memories that the thought of Tennelly made vivid again. In the midst of it he heard steps on the veranda. Some one from outside unlatched the door and flung it open. A wild, careless laugh floated in on the cold breath of the sea. Courtland came to his feet as if he had been called! That laugh had gone through his heart like a knife, with its heartless baby-like mirth. It was Gila! Had Tennelly played him false, after all, and brought her along? Was this some kind of a ruse to get them together? For he knew that Tennelly was distressed over their alienation, and that he understood to some extent that it was on account of Gila that he always avoided accepting the many invitations which were continually pressed upon him to come down to the city and be with his friends once more.
The door swung wide on its hinges and Gila entered, trig and chic as usual, in a stylish little coat-suit of homespun, leather-trimmed and short-skirted, high boots, leather leggings, and a jaunty little leather cap with a bridle under her chin. Only her petite figure and her baby face saved her from being taken for a tough young sport. She swaggered in, chewing gum, her gauntleted hands in her pockets, her young voice flung almost coarsely into the room by the wind; the innocent look gone from her face; the eyes wide and bold; the exquisite mouth in a sensuous curve.
Behind her lounged a man older than herself by many years, with silver at his temples, daredevil eyes, and a handsome, voluptuous face. He kicked the door shut behind him and lolled against it while he lit a cigarette.