“Have a nice ride?”

Lizann shrugged, removing her gloves and not bothering to look at Renda as he spoke. She wore a green riding suit and hat, the hat straight over her eyes and resembling a small derby, and her auburn hair was pulled back severely into a chignon at the nape of her neck.

“I was out on the road,” Renda said, “and saw you go by.” Beneath the heavy mustache, his lips barely moved. “I thought I told you not to go near there.”

She looked at him now; her expression described boredom and even raising her eyes seemed an effort. Still she did not speak.

“So we’re not talking today,” Renda said mildly.

Lizann shrugged. “There isn’t really much point in it.”

“We could talk about Willis going to Fuegos again.”

“I didn’t know he had.”

“Maybe,” Renda suggested, “Willis’s got a woman there.”

Lizann looked at him again. “Willis wouldn’t know the first thing about getting one.”

“He got you.”

“Did he?”

“Then you must’ve got him,” Renda said. He nodded thoughtfully, even though he had thought about this before, months before, when Willis Falvey and his wife had first arrived. He had reasoned it out for himself at that time. “Sure,” he said now, “you got him…seeing him with Washington friends and thinking he was due for something big. I don’t blame you, Lizzy.” Renda paused. “But why did he end up here?”

“You’re talking to yourself,” Lizann said.

“Well,” Renda shrugged. “It doesn’t make much difference how it happened, when you get right down to it. Does it? You’re here and there isn’t a solitary thing you can do about it.”

“Isn’t there?” Their eyes held momentarily. Then Lizann turned from him and started across the quadrangle. Renda slapped his chestnut into the stable and caught up with her.

“So you’re still after Willis to quit.”