there lay a long stretch of empty road in front of him, without a sign of human being or dog upon it. He stopped, incredulous. She couldn't have gotten out of sight so quickly. He stared about and then back; and just behind him, only a yard or so, he saw her coming down onto the road from a slight eminence where she had evidently stood when he passed, with every opportunity to observe his rapid approach, his sudden careful assumption of casual indifference, and then his discomfiture at finding the road empty. Mercifully, her face was set homeward when he turned his head and saw her; and muttering imprecations between his teeth, he strode on up the road, perfectly conscious that she must be laughing at him for a preposterous idiot.
When he was sure that she must have reached home and entered her own compound, he turned back and eventually stalked up the path to his own door, not at all sure but that she might be still laughing at him through the screening vines and foliage of her garden. Once within, he attacked his typewriter with vicious energy; but had no more than begun when the honk of an automobile brought him to his feet, recognizing Bert Sands's particular play upon the key.
Before he could reach the door, the young woman was standing in the entrance with the usual shining eyes and wind-blown rings of black hair, her hands in the pockets of a pair of grey knickers.
