Harroll looked thoughtfully at Selden, who stood watching two pretty girls playing handball on the green.
"Young man," said Mr. Delancy, "do you realize what I've been through in one week? I have been obliged to wear this unspeakable garment, I've been obliged to endure every species of tomfoolery, I've been fed on bird seed, deprived of cigars, and sent to bed at half past nine. And I'm as sound in limb and body as you are. And all because I desired to be rid of you. I had two theories! both are smashed. I refuse to entertain any more theories concerning anything!"
Harroll laughed; then his attention became concentrated on the exquisite landscape, where amid green foliage white villas of Georgia marble glimmered, buried in blossoming thickets of oleander, wistaria, and Cherokee roses—where through the trees a placid lake lay reflecting the violet sky—where fallow-deer wandered, lipping young maple buds—where beneath a pergola heavily draped with golden jasmine a white-robed figure moved in the shade—a still, sunny world of green and gold and violet exhaling incense under a cloudless sky.
"I would like to see Catharine," he said, slowly, "with your permission—and in view of the fate of the theories."
"Jim," said Mr. Delancy, "you are doubtless unconscious of the trouble you have created in my family."
"Trouble, sir?" repeated the young man, flushing up.
"Trouble for two. My daughter and I believed you drowned."
Harroll stood perfectly still. Mr. Delancy took a step or two forward, turned, and came back across the lawn. "She is sitting under that pergola yonder, looking out to sea, and I'm afraid she's crying her eyes out for something she wants. It's probably not good for her, either. But—such as it is—she may have it."
The two men looked at one another steadily.