here. So I remember."

"Well, I declare! Ten years ago, eh? You've met, eh? You've met Bryce
since his return to Sequoia, I believe. He's quite a fellow now."

"He is indeed."

John Cardigan nodded sagely. "So that's why you thought aloud," he
remarked impersonally. "Bryce told you about her. You are right, Miss
Shirley Sumner. God didn't give her much time for happiness--just
three years; but oh, such wonderful years! Such wonderful years!

"It was mighty fine of you to bring flowers," he announced presently.
"I appreciate that. I wish I could see you. You must be a dear, nice,
thoughtful girl. Won't you sit down and talk to me?"

"I should be glad to," she answered, and seated herself on the brown
carpet of redwood twigs close to his chair.

"So you came up here to do a little clear thinking," he continued in
his deliberate, amiable tones. "Do you come here often?"

"This is the third time in ten years," she answered. "I feel that I
have no business to intrude here. This is your shrine, and strangers
should not profane it."

"I think I should have resented the presence of any other person,
Miss Sumner. I resented you--until you spoke."

"I'm glad you said that, Mr. Cardigan. It sets me at ease."