He did see.  He could have wished not to see so clearly.  He saw with a light that dazzled him.  Any step would be hazardous now, except one in retreat; though he was careful to explain to himself that night that it was retreat for reconnoitre, and not for running away.  The mere fact that the Wild Olive had taken on personality, with a place of some sort in the world, brought her near to him again; while the knowledge that he bore her name—­possibly her father’s name—­seemed to make him the creation of her magic to an even greater degree than he had felt hitherto.  He could perceive, too, that by living out the suggestions she had made to him in the cabin—­the Argentine—­Stephens and Jarrott—­“the very good firm to work for”—­he had never got beyond her influence, no more than the oak-tree gets beyond the acorn that has been its seed.  The perception of these things would have been enough to puzzle a mind not easily at home in the complex, even if the reintroduction of Judge Wayne had not confused him further.

It was not astonishing, therefore, that he was seized with a sudden longing to get away—­a longing for space and solitude, for the pampas and the rivers, and, above all, for work.  In the free air his spirit would throw off its oppression of discomfort, while in a daily routine of occupation he often found that difficulties solved themselves.

“If you think that this business of Kent’s can get along without me now,” he said to Mr. Jarrott, in the private office, next morning, “perhaps I had better be getting back to Rosario.”

Not a muscle moved in the old man’s long, wooden face, but the gray-blue eyes threw Strange a curious look.

“Do you want to go?” he asked, after a slight pause.

Strange smiled, with an embarrassment that did not escape observation.

“I’ve been away longer than I expected—­a good deal longer.  Things must want looking after, I suppose.  Green can take my place for a while, but—­”

“Green is doing very well—­better than I thought he could.  He seems to have taken a new start, that man.”

“I’m not used to loafing, sir.  If there’s no particular reason for my staying on here—­”

Mr. Jarrott fitted the tips of his fingers together, and answered slowly.

“There’s no particular reason—­just now.  We’ve been speaking of—­of—­a—­certain changes—­But it’s too soon—­”

“Of course, sir, I don’t want to urge my private wishes against—­”

“Quite so; quite so; I understand that.  A—­a—­private wishes, you say?”

“Yes, sir; entirely private.”

The gray-blue eyes rested on him in a gaze meant to be uninquisitive and non-committal, but which, as a matter of fact, expressed something from which Strange turned his own glance away.

“Very well; I’d go,” the old man said, quietly.

Strange left his cards that afternoon at the house just when he knew Mrs. Jarrott would be resting and Miss Jarrott driving with Miss Colfax.  At seven he took the night boat up the Plata to the Parana.