A Court of Inquiry | Page 8

Dahlia did not let him finish. "I simply love to go fishing," she said
softly.
"Do you?" said the Philosopher, blinking stupidly. "It is great sport, I
think, myself."
Even then I believe he would have turned away. He is not used to it--at
least, in Dahlia's style. But she detained him.
"Are you really not going to ask me?" she said, looking like a
disappointed child.
I saw the Gay Lady look at her. The Skeptic glanced at the Gay Lady. I
observed the Skeptic. But the Philosopher rose to the occasion. He is
invariably courteous.
"Why, certainly," he responded, "if you would really care to go. It's
rather a long walk to the stream and--I'm afraid the boat leaks
considerably, but----"
"Oh, I don't mind that," she exulted, jumping up, her cheeks pink with
delight. "In fact, I know that boat of old----" She gave the Skeptic a
look from under her eyelashes, but he was looking at the Gay Lady and
it failed to hit him. "Are you ready? All right. And I've my
sunbonnet--just the thing. You shall see what we'll catch," she called

back to us, as the two walked away.
* * * * *
The Skeptic got the pillar between himself and the departing pair. His
face was convulsed with mirth. He slapped his knee. "I said he'd soon
know," he chuckled, holding himself in with an effort, "but I didn't
think he'd find out quite so soon. Smoke and ashes--but that was quick
work!"
He turned about and looked up at the Gay Lady. "Will you go fishing?"
he inquired, still chuckling.
"No, thank you," responded the Gay Lady, smiling at her embroidery
without looking up.
"Will you go fishing?"
The inquiry was directed at me.
I shook my head.
The Skeptic fell into an attitude of mock despair. Then he sat up. "I'm
going to go down and hide behind the big tree at the bend," he declared.
"I want to see Philo when she----"
The Gay Lady spoke to me. "Do you think I'm getting that K too
heavy?" she asked.
The Skeptic laughed, and strolled away--not in the direction of the trout
stream.
Dahlia and the Philosopher came back just as luncheon was served.
Dahlia was looking pinker than ever, and I thought the Philosopher's
tan had rather a pinkish hue, also. I felt obliged to ask Dahlia to stay to
luncheon and she promptly accepted. Throughout the meal she was
very gay, sitting at my round table between the Philosopher and the
Skeptic, and plying both with attentions. It is a singular phrase to use,
in speaking of a girl, but I know no other that applies so well--in

Dahlia's case.
After luncheon the Philosopher bolted. His movements are usually
deliberate, but I never saw a quicker exit made from a dining-room
which has only two doors. One door leads into the hall, the other to the
pantry. The rest of us went out the hall door. When we reached the
porch the Philosopher was missing. There is no explanation except that
he went out by the pantry door.
On the porch the Skeptic said, "I must run down to the barn and look
after Skylark's foot. He cut himself when I was out on him yesterday."
He hastened away down the driveway.
Dahlia looked after him.
"Is Skylark here?" she asked. "Oh, how I want to see the dear thing!
And he's cut his foot!--I'm going to run down to the barn, too, and see
him."
And she hurried away after the Skeptic.
"I think I'll go in and sleep a while," said the Gay Lady to me. Her
expressive lips had a curious little twist of scorn.
"I should, too, if I hadn't a new guest," said I.
We tried not to smile at each other, but we couldn't quite help it.
The Gay Lady went away to her room. I heard her close the blinds on
the side that looked off toward the barn, and, glancing up, saw that she
had turned down the slats tightly.
* * * * *
I think it must have been well on toward four in the afternoon when the
white sunbonnet at last disappeared through the gap in the hedge. The
Skeptic came back up the garden path at the pace of an escaping
convict, and went tearing up the stairs to his room. I heard him

splashing like a seal in his bath. Presently he came out, freshly attired
and went away down the road, in the opposite direction from that in
which lay the house beyond the hedge.
Dahlia came over at twilight that evening--to bring me a great bunch of
golden-glow. She was captivatingly arrayed in blue. She remained for
an hour or so. When she went away