Toward evening of the seventh day of her visit, Miss Sherwood returned. Larry was on the piazza when the car bearing her swept into the white-graveled curve of the drive. The car was a handsome, powerful roadster. Larry had started out to be of such assistance as he could, when the figure at the wheel, a man, sprang from the car and helped Miss Sherwood alight. Larry saw that the man was Hunt—such a different Hunt!—and he had begun a quick retreat when Hunt's voice called after him:
“You there—wait a minute! I want a little chin-chin with you.”
Larry halted. He could not help overhearing the few words that passed between Hunt and Miss Sherwood.
“Thank you ever so much,” she said in her even voice. “Then you're coming?”
“I promised, didn't I?”
“Then good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
They shook hands friendly enough, but rather formally, and Miss Sherwood turned to the house. Hunt called to Larry:
“Come here, son.”
Larry crossed to the big painter who was standing beside the power-bulged hood of his low-swung car.