Dick rarely appeared, even for a moment, until lunch, and Paula, now carrying out her seclusion program, never appeared before dinner.
"Rest cure," Dick laughed one noon, and challenged Graham to a tournament with boxing gloves, single-sticks, and foils.
"And now's the time," he told Graham, as they breathed between bouts, "for you to tackle your book. I'm only one of the many who are looking forward to reading it, and I'm looking forward hard. Got a letter from Havely yesterday--he mentioned it, and wondered how far along you were."
So Graham, in his tower room, arranged his notes and photographs, schemed out the work, and plunged into the opening chapters. So immersed did he become that his nascent interest in Paula might have languished, had it not been for meeting her each evening at dinner. Then, too, until Ernestine and Lute left for Santa Barbara, there were afternoon swims and rides and motor trips to the pastures of the Miramar Hills and the upland ranges of the Anselmo Mountains. Other trips they made, sometimes accompanied by Dick, to his great dredgers working in the Sacramento basin, or his dam-building on the Little Coyote and Los Cuatos creeks, or to his five-thousand-acre colony of twenty-acre farmers, where he was trying to enable two hundred and fifty heads of families, along with their families, to make good on the soil.
That Paula sometimes went for long solitary rides, Graham knew, and, once, he caught her dismounting from the Fawn at the hitching rails.
"Don't you think you are spoiling that mare for riding in company?" he twitted.
Paula laughed and shook her head.
"Well, then," he asserted stoutly, "I'm spoiling for a ride with you."
"There's Lute, and Ernestine, and Bert, and all the rest."
"This is new country," he contended. "And one learns country through the people who know it. I've seen it through the eyes of Lute, and Ernestine and all the rest; but there is a lot I haven't seen and which I can see only through your eyes."
"A pleasant theory," she evaded. "A--a sort of landscape vampirism."
"But without the ill effects of vampirism," he urged quickly.
Her answer was slow in coming. Her look into his eyes was frank and straight, and he could guess her words were weighed and gauged.
"I don't know about that," was all she said finally; but his fancy leaped at the several words, ranging and conjecturing their possible connotations.
"But we have so much we might be saying to each other," he tried again. "So much we... ought to be saying to each other."