“Where does the big mystery stand now?” asked the girl.
“It stands there leering at us,” the boy replied. “Just as it always has.” For a time they speculated on Madden’s unexplained murder of Delaney. Meanwhile they were climbing between the hills, while the night gathered about them. Presently they dropped down into a green fertile valley, fragrant with the scent of blossoms.
“Um,” sighed Eden, breathing deep. “Smells pretty. What is it?”
The girl glanced at him. “You poor, benighted soul. Orange blossoms.”
“Oh! Well, naturally I couldn’t be expected to know that.”
“Of course not.”
“The condemned man gets a rather pleasant whiff in his last moments, doesn’t he? I suppose it acts like ether—and when he comes to, he’s married.” A reckless driver raced toward them on the wrong side of the road. “Look out!”
“I saw him coming,” said the girl. “You’re safe with me. How many times must I tell you that?”
They had dinner and a dance or two at an inn in Riverside, and all too soon, it seemed to Eden, arrived at Pasadena. The girl drove up before the Maryland Hotel, prepared to drop him.
“But look here,” he protested. “I’ll see you safely to Hollywood, of course.”
“No need of that,” she smiled. “I’m like you. I can take care of myself.”
“Is that so?”
“Want to see me tomorrow?”
