SON OF THE WIND
and be at ease. Even Rader, though he lifted his gaze in his usual slow, direct fashion, did so with an effort and with a shy consciousness. Ferrier's manner was lively, and between games, in the pause, his talk flowed a thin and rapid stream. His eyes moved constantly, darting at every person, every object in the room, resting nowhere an instant; flitting over Carron's face, skimming him with glances that feared to stop; that seemed to refute, to deny, with every fresh excursion to repeat, "I don't know you; I don't see you; you are not there!"
No, he had not forgotten. It was not likely that he could have forgotten. That ugly little moment. on the drive was too hard to down. It kept rising in Carron's own mind, like an unexorcised ghost. He could fancy of what Ferrier was thinking; the same thing he was thinking of, Rader too, in his greater detachment, of the curious secret which was common among them, which made it hard for them to look at one another; the thing that each understood in the others, and, strangely enough, had no fear that any one of them would give it away.
To tell of what the women were thinking was a far different matter. There was no telling. Yet, they, too, seemed to have a secret. Without looking at each other, rather ignoring each other, some understanding was between them. They seemed able
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