Tudor would have to come to him or else there would be no termination of the affair.

He wiped the sweat from his face and tied the handkerchief around his neck to keep off the stinging gnats that lurked in the grass.

Never had he felt so great a disgust for the thing called "adventure." Joan had been bad enough, with her Baden- Powell and long-barrelled Colt's; but here was this newcomer also looking for adventure, and finding it in no other way than by lugging a peace- loving planter into an absurd and preposterous bush-whacking duel.

If ever adventure was well damned, it was by Sheldon, sweating in the windless grass and fighting gnats, the while he kept close watch up and down the avenue.
Then Tudor came.

Sheldon happened to be looking in his direction at the moment he came into view, peering quickly up and down the avenue before he stepped into the open.