"You should be careful not to make such mistakes, Mr. Tryon," she said haughtily.
"_Soit_! The mistake is mine as well as the loss," he murmured gracefully, knowing very well what was his real crime. "But prophets must be prepared for losses. In olden days they have even been known to lose their heads for prophesying too truly." And on that he made a bow, and returned to Gay, whom he had left in their sitting-out place, which was his car. She had danced but little all the evening and seemed lost in dark thoughts.
"Tired?" he asked, leaning on the door beside her.
"No; but I'm sick of this dance," she said fiercely. "Take me for a spin, Dick."
"Right. But the roads are pretty bad in the dark, you know."
"The Selukine road isn't bad"--she paused a moment, then slowly added, "and the road to Glendora."
It was Tryon's turn to ponder. The road to the Glendora was the worst in the country, but it didn't take him long to read the riddle.
"Come on, then!" he said abruptly. "Shall I get your cloak?"
"No; let me wear your things, Dick." She took up a big motor-coat and deer-stalker from the driving-seat and slipped into them. The rose-pink gown disappeared and was lost under the darkness of tweed, and the cap covered her bright hair. She sat well back in the shadows of the tonneau.
Tryon set the car going, climbed moodily into the lonely driving-seat, and steered away into the darkness just as the music stopped and a crowd of dancers came pouring out of the ballroom.
The Glendora lay west of the town, and the road to it ran past the club. As luck would have it, a man coming from the latter place, and pushing a bicycle before him, almost collided with them, causing Tryon to pull up short.
"Is that you, Emma Guthrie?" he called irritably.
"Nope!" on a deeper tone of gloom. Gay touched Tryon's shoulder.
"I'm just taking a run out to the Glendora," announced Tryon. "Want to come?"
"I do," said Guthrie, with laconic significance, and climbed in beside the driver. They flipped through the night at thirty miles an hour, which was as much as Tryon dared risk on such a road. The Glendora was about ten miles off. Gay, furled in the big coat and kindly darkness, could hear the two men exchanging an occasional low word, but little was said. It was doubtful whether Guthrie knew who Tryon's other passenger was.