MISS DERINGHAM FEELS SLIGHTED The morning was still and almost unpleasantly warm, but Miss Deringham looked very fresh and cool in her long white dress as she lay in a deerhide chair on the verandah of the Somasco ranch.

She had hung her hat on the back of the chair, and a shaft of sunlight called up an answering brightness from the coils of lustrous hair.

One foot in the scantiest form of slipper rested on the lowest rail of the balustrade, and she had slightly curled herself up in the chair in a fashion which implied a languid content with her surroundings, and that there was no longer any need for ceremony between herself and her companion.

It is possible that Miss Deringham was aware of this, even if she had not intended to convey that impression.
Alton, who now wore a new jean jacket buttoned right up to the neck, leaned against a pillar, answering the questions of the girl, who glanced at him with a smile occasionally.

He had, as usual, a good deal to do that day, and now and then turned his eyes towards the sun, as though noticing its height above the cedars, which did not, of course, escape Miss Deringham's attention.