As the weeks passed, Eveley noticed a change in the conduct of the honeymoon home beneath her. Many times in the early morning, she saw Mrs. Severs going out with a covered basket and wearing an old long coat and a tight-fitting small hat. And sometimes she met her in the evening, coming home, dusty, tired and happy.

“I am going to father’s,” she would explain lightly. Or, “I have been out with father to-day.”

And at the quizzical laughter in Eveley’s eyes, she would add defiantly: “He is a darling, Eveley, and I was very silly. Why didn’t you bring me to my senses?”

For Mrs. Severs was feeling less well than usual, and in the long absence of her husband every day, she was learning to depend on the brusk, kindly, capable father-in-law. And many days, when she was not well enough to leave home, he came himself, and the girls up-stairs could hear him in the kitchen below, preparing dinner for Andy and his ailing bride.

“Whatever should I do without him, Miss Ainsworth?” she sometimes asked. “He does everything for me. And I think he likes me pretty well, now he is getting used to me. He is good to me,—his little funny ways are not really funny any more, but rather sweet. I spoiled everything with my selfishness, and he will never try to live with us again.”

One evening, when Father-in-law had been particularly tender and helpful, she looked at Eveley with brooding eyes, and said, “You are such a nice girl, but I sort of blame you because father is not with us. You are so much cleverer than I,—couldn’t you have opened my eyes before it was too late?”

And Eveley ran up the stairs shaking her slender fists in the air. “Deliver me from brides,” she said devoutly to the rose in the corner of her roof garden. “Grooms are bad enough, but brides are utterly impossible. I would not live with one for anything on earth. To think of the wretched life they were living until I helped them to a proper adjustment,—and now she holds me responsible. I always said Father-in-law was the most desirable member of the family.”

But even he disappointed her.

“Well, are you getting enough freedom?” she asked him pleasantly one evening as she met him coming in.

He looked about cautiously before he answered. “Excuse me, miss,” he said apologetically, “but you are away off on some things. Freedom is all right, but a little of it goes a long ways. Sometimes folks like company. She,” he said, with an explanatory wave of his thumb toward the house, “she is a pretty fair sort. I’ve got so danged sick of having my own way that, Holy Mackinaw, I’d try living with an orphan asylum for a change. You see, I was just getting used to her, and so I kind of miss her cluttering around under foot.”

Eveley was quite annoyed at this turn of events, and her feeling of perturbation lasted fully half-way up the rustic stairs. But by the time she had crossed the roof garden and swung through the window she was herself again. She caught Marie about the shoulders and danced her through the room with a spinning whirl.

“Such a lark,” she cried. “The most fun we are going to have. Listen, sweetest thing in the world, we are going to have a party to-night, you and I, and Nolan and Jimmy Ames. They are coming here, Jimmy for you of course, for I always get Nolan if he is in the party.”

“Oh, Eveley,” gasped Marie, paling a little. “I can’t. I—Mr. Hiltze said I should not meet men, you know.”

“Well, he is not the head of our family. And besides, he will not know a thing about this. You will love Jimmy Ames. I nearly do myself. He is so big and blond and boyish,—you know, the slow, good, lovey kind.”

“But he’ll ask—”

“Don’t worry. I know Jimmy Ames. After one look at you, he will not be able to ask questions for a month. Come, let’s hurry. You must wear that exquisite little yellow thing, and I’ll wear black to bring you out nicely.”

“Oh, Eveley, you mustn’t—”

“Well, Nolan likes me in black, anyhow. He says it makes me look heavenly, and of course one ought to sustain an illusion like that if possible. Now do not argue, Marie. We are going to have a perfectly wonderful time, and you will be as happy as a lark.”

For a moment longer Marie hesitated, frowning into space. Then she suddenly brightened, and a wistful eagerness came into her eyes.

“Eveley, I am going to do whatever you tell me. If you wish me to be of your party, I will. And if you say, ‘Do not tell Mr. Hiltze,’ I shall never tell him. And if you say, ‘Like Mr. Ames,’ I shall adore him.”

“That’s a nice girl,” cried Eveley, happily whirling into her chair at the table and dropping her hat upon the floor at her side. “I couldn’t have planned anything nicer than this. Kitty and Arnold often have parties with us, but it will be much better having you and Jimmy. He looks very smart in his uniform.”

“Uniform,” faltered Marie suddenly.

“Yes,—Lieutenant Ames, you know,—Jimmy Ames.”

“Lieutenant? Oh, Eveley, please, let’s not. I—am not fond of the military. I am afraid of soldiers. Let me—Have some one else dear, please. Get Kitty this time, won’t you? I am afraid.”

“Wait till you see Jimmy. He isn’t the snoopy overbearing kind that you are used to. Can’t you trust me yet, Marie? I wouldn’t have you meet any one who would be unpleasant or suspicious. You have found the rest of my friends all right, haven’t you?”

“Well, never mind,” Marie decided suddenly. “I will come to the party, but do not ever let Mr. Hiltze know, will you? He would be raging.”

“Marie, do you love Amos Hiltze?”

“Love him! I hate him.”

“Hate him? Then why in the world are you so afraid of him? You obey every word he says, and follow every suggestion he makes. I thought you were great friends.”

Marie flushed and paled swiftly. “It is because I am grateful to him,” she said at last, not meeting Eveley’s eyes. “He brought me to you,—and he helps me,—and I am, willing to do whatever he tells me except when you wish something else. But I do not like him personally by any means, and I wish he did not come here so much.”

“I thought you were friends,” Eveley repeated confusedly.

“He is in love with you—don’t you know that?”

“Yes,—perhaps so. But Angelo says men can love two women simultaneously. Angelo says there is something strange about his bringing—I mean,” she interrupted herself quickly, “Angelo wondered where he found you, or—or something.”

“Angelo is a good friend to you, Eveley. You might pay better heed to his suggestions, to your own good,” said Marie faintly.

“I thought,—oh, I do not know what I thought. Well, we can shunt Mr. Hiltze off a little, if you wish. But you should not dislike him. He is greatly interested in you, and so full of enthusiasm and eagerness for this Americanization idea. He has been a great help to me, and he is very clever. And since he brought us together we should love him a little. Any one who struggles with Americanization deserves my patriotic and sympathetic interest, at least.”

“Yes, I know.” And she added slowly: “One can show enthusiasm for the things one hates worst in the world,—if there is a secret reason.”

“You do not mean Mr. Hiltze, do you?” asked Eveley, with quiet loyalty.

“No, to be sure not. I only said one could.”

“Mr. Hiltze is nothing to us. Toss him away. Come now, let’s doll up for our party.”

They were two radiantly lovely girls who stood in the little garden on the roof of the sun parlor, waiting for the men who ran up the wavering rustic stairs to join them.

“Oh, girls,” cried Nolan plaintively, as he saw them in their beauty. “It is not fair of you to look like this. Marie, you are exquisite. Eveley, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Yes, we are,” said Eveley pleasantly. “Jimmy, I want you to meet my darling and adorable little friend, Marie Ledesma. This is Lieutenant Ames, Marie.”

Lieutenant Ames stood very tall and slim and straight as he looked into Marie’s face. Then he saw the soft appeal in her eyes.

“Be good to me,” they seemed to beg, “be generous, and kind.”

It was in answer to this plea of the limpid eyes that he held out his hand with sudden impulse, and said:

“Miss Ledesma, when Eveley speaks like that, I know your friendship is a priceless boon, and I want my share of it. I am receiving a sort of psychic message that you and I are destined to be good comrades.”

A sudden wave of light swept over her lovely face, and her lips parted in a happy smile.

“Lieutenant Ames,” she whispered in her soft voice, “do you really feel so? And then you also are my friend?”

“Jimmy Ames, you stop that,” cried Eveley. “Marie belongs to me, and you must not even try to supplant me. I won’t have it. Come on in, everybody, and let’s play, play, play to our heart’s content.”

Marie went through the window first, with a light slender swing of her feet. But Eveley, as always plunging impulsively, lost her balance and fell among the cushions. Nolan and the lieutenant followed laughing.

“We must take a day off and teach Eveley the approved method of making entrance to a social gathering,” said Nolan. “Are you all black and blue, you poor child?” he asked, helping her up, for she had waited patiently for his assistance.

It was a wonderfully happy party. They played the Victrola, and danced merrily through the two rooms, around the reading table, through the archway, winding among the chairs in the dining-room. When they were tired, Marie brought her mandolin,—for having remarked once idly that she could play it, Eveley that night had brought her one as a little gift of love. And she played soft Spanish love-songs, singing in her pretty lilting voice. Then altogether they prepared their supper and because the night was still young and lovely, and they were happy and free from pressing care, they decided suddenly for a drive. They crossed the bay on the ferry to Coronado, and went down on the sands of the beach for a while, standing quietly to watch the silver tips of the waves shining in the pale moonlight. Then they drove out the Silver Strand and so home once more.

Before they parted, they arranged for another party, two nights later, and after long discussion agreed that it should be an evening swimming party in the bay at Coronado, with a hot supper afterward in the Cloud Cote.

“How did you like our Lieutenant Jimmy?” Eveley demanded, as soon as they were alone.

“He is incomparable,” said Marie simply.

“I knew it,” cried Eveley ecstatically. “Nolan and I both said so. Spontaneous combustion, that is what it was. Come and sleep with me again to-night. It is such fun to go to bed and turn out the light and talk. Did you ever do it?”

“No, my life has not been of that kind.”

“But you will learn. I never saw any one learn as quickly as you do,—especially things about men.—Now I shall begin by telling you how adorable Nolan is, and you must interrupt me to say how wonderful Jimmy is.—Did you ever have a sweetheart, Marie?”

Then she added quickly: “Wait, wait. I—I did not mean to ask questions,—Excuse me, I am sorry. Let’s talk of something else.”

“No, let’s talk of lovers,” said Marie, snuggling close to Eveley, her head lying against her shoulder. “I have never had the regular kind of a lover,—your kind,—the kind that women want. My life was full of war and horrors, and I had not time for the thrills of love. And the men I knew were not the men that one would wish to love one.”

“Then, this is your chance,” said Eveley happily. “Now I am positively sure that one of these days you will be a matchless American woman. You are just ripe and ready for love. You can’t escape it, you sweet thing, even if you could wish. War and horrors were left behind in your old home. Here in your new home you will know only peace and contentment and love. Aren’t you glad I adopted you? We must give Mr. Hiltze credit for that anyhow, mustn’t we?”

There was a sudden tension in the slender figure at her side. “Eveley, are you so innocent? Do you never attribute evil motives to any one? Do you always believe only good and beautiful and lovely things of those you meet?”

“Well, I have no real reason for thinking mean or ugly things of any one—not really. I never had any horrors in my life until the war came. I have just lived along serenely and contentedly, and being fairly nice and kind, I have no guilty conscience to trouble me, and no one has ever been hateful or mean to me—not in anything that really counted.”

Both were silent a moment, thinking, each in her different way, of the contrast in their lives. Then Eveley went on, more slowly:

“I feel sometimes that we are living on the crest of a terrible upheaval—that we are on the edge of a seething volcano which is threatening and rumbling beneath us, each day growing fiercer and more ominous, and that presently may come chaos, and we on the crater of life will be dragged down into the furnace with the rest. I suppose,” she added apologetically, “it is because of the conditions that always follow a war, the political unrest, the social chaos, the anarchistic tendencies of every one. I am not in the midst of things enough to understand them, but even up here on the top of our canyon, we sometimes get a blast of the hot air from below, and it troubles us. Then we try to forget, and go on with our playing. But the volcano still rumbles beneath.”

Eveley slipped her hand out to take Marie’s and found it icy cold.

“Did—did you ever feel so before?” asked Marie in a low strange voice. “That you were living on the rim of a volcano, ready to catch and crush you?”

“No, not before. It is just now—after the war. Conditions were never the same before.”

Then Marie burst into a passion of tears. “It is my fault,” she sobbed. “It is because I am here. All my life I have lived in the crater of a volcano, and I have brought it upon you. It is a curse I carry with me. It is the chaos from which I have come, and to which I must go again when I leave you—it is that which destroys your peace.”

Frightened and astonished, Eveley soothed her, cradling her in her arms. “You little silly,” she said tenderly. “You dear little goose. Don’t you believe any such nonsense as that. We are in a condition of turmoil, our United States and all the rest of the world. It is not the affairs of your Mexico that worry me—it is the tempest in my own country. And don’t you ever talk any more about going back. You shall never go back. You are to stay here with me forever and ever, world without end, amen. You will, won’t you?”

Marie only stirred a little, and did not answer.

“Marie,” cried Eveley, her voice sharp with fear. “Do you ever think really of going back to—that? Answer me.” And she gripped Marie’s soft shoulder with strong fingers.

“I do not think any more,” said Marie gently. “But one always has a feeling that one must return whence one has come, do you not think? It is only that. It seems incredible that I, alone out of our struggling thousands, should be let to come away and live serenely in a cloud cote, does it not? And the struggle in Mexico goes on.”

“The same kind of peace and contentment will come to all your country when the world is settled down to law and order once more,” said Eveley, with the sublime faith of the young and the unsuffering. “It just takes time. And God was good enough to carry you away before the end of the conflict. Just wait. When our country is thoroughly Americanized, and returns to joyful work and love and life again, the contagion will spread to your people, and peace will reign there also. So do not talk any more nonsense about leaving me. Now let’s go back to the beginning, and talk about—the men.”