“So I see.”

This second tentative effort at conversation having flickered and gone out she bent again to her work, while Blair remained, looking down at her, in his eyes mingled amusement and resentment.  What had he done, he wondered, to account for such a change?  Or, perhaps, it was something he had not done.  He tried again.

“Aren’t we going for our ride this morning?  It’s a glorious day, and I have the refusal of the two best horses.”

“No, I think not, — not this morning, thank you,” she answered.  In her voice was the same crisp sweetness.  “I haven’t time!”

With a shrug of pure bewilderment he backed away, then lingered a moment longer to watch the sketch take shape beneath her hurrying brush.  That was the particular moment Miss Hastings chose for the final reckless stab.

“You’re standing in my light,” she said.  “If you’d just as soon, please do go away, Mr. Blair.  It makes me nervous to have people looking over my shoulder when I’m trying to paint.”

This was just a trifle more than Blair at the moment was prepared to stand.  His eyes grew dark.

“Certainly,” he replied icily.  “So sorry to have bothered you at all.  I only came down to tell you that I’ve decided to leave today.  There’s nothing more to keep me now, I think, and I’m rather anxious to get home.  You’ll find your check at the desk.”  And he sauntered away.

She did not go back to the hotel for luncheon.  She had finished her sketch, yet, somehow, when the time came, she discovered that it would be quite impossible to enter the dining room.  She found it equally impossible to take the afternoon boat herself.  Instead, having clambered half way up the steep slope to the cavern, she watched from behind a flaming riot of wild nasturtians while, preceded by a hotel porter bearing bags and suit-cases, Blair boarded the Avalon for Los Angeles.  He was going away, then, without even a word of farewell.

The heart of the little art teacher turned cold within her, so cold that she sank numbly into the red and gold tangle; nor did she look up again until the steamer, dipping below the horizon, had left only a trail of smoke to show where it disappeared.  She had not believed that he would do quite that!

When evening came she went stoically in to dinner.  There was no reason any longer for staying away.  Sternly she kept her eyes from the vacant place opposite.  Yet somehow she could not persuade herself that he was really gone.  More than once she caught herself watching the door, half expecting to see him stroll in with apologies for tardiness and take his empty chair.  When again the orchestra drifted suddenly into the waltz to which they had danced, she rose abruptly and left the room.

Well, she would go herself in the morning.  She would settle everything and pack her things at once.  She went to the desk to ask for the check.  But there was nothing for her.  No, the clerk assured her after much fumbling, Mr. Blair hadn’t left anything, either in her box or his own.  But, — the man stole a covert glance at her downcast face, — he was still holding his rooms.  Probably he meant to attend to it when he returned.