utside the ropes."

Helen was looking through the field glasses. "I see him," she cried.
"Now, that's more like it. He looks like what I expected to see. What a
fine, big chap he is, isn't he?" Then, as she studied the distant
horseman, a puzzled expression came over her face. "Why, Kitty!" she
said in a low tone, so that the men who were talking did not hear. "Do
you know, that man somehow reminds me"--she hesitated and lowered the
glasses to look at her companion with half-amused, half-embarrassed
eyes--"he reminds me of Lawrence Knight."

Kitty's brown, fun-loving eyes glowed with mischief. "Really, Mrs.
Manning, I am ashamed of you. Before the honeymoon has waned, your
thoughts, with no better excuse than the appearance of a poor
cow-puncher, go back to the captivating charms of your old millionaire
lover. I--"

"Kitty! Do hush," pleaded Helen.

She lifted her glasses for another look at the cowboy.

"I don't wonder that your conscience reproves you," teased Kitty, in a
low tone. "But tell me, poor child, how did it happen that you lost your
millionaire?"

"I didn't lose him," retorted Helen, still watching Patches. "He lost
me."

Kitty persisted with a playful mockery. "What! the great, the wonderful
Knight of so many millions, failed, with all his glittering charms, to
captivate the fair but simple Helen! Really, I can't believe it."

"Look at that man right there," flashed Helen proudly, indicating her
husband, "and you can believe it."

Kitty laughed so gaily that Stanford turned to look at them with smiling
inquiry.

"Never mind, Mr. Manning," said Kitty, "we are just reminiscing, that's
all."

"Don't miss the race," he answered; "they're getting ready again to
start. It looks like a go this time."

"And to think," murmured Kitty, "that I never so much as saw your
Knight's picture! But you used to like Lawrence Knight, didn't you,
Helen?" she added, as Helen lifted her field glasses again. And now,
Mrs. Manning caught a note of earnest inquiry in her companion's voice.
It was as though the girl were seeking confirmation of some purpose or
decision of her own.

"Why, yes, Kitty, I liked Larry Knight very much," she answered frankly.
"He was a fine fellow in many ways--a dear, good friend. Stanford and I
are both very fond of him; they were college mates, you know. But, my
dear girl, no one could ever consider poor old Larry seriously--as a
man, you know--he is so--so utterly and hopelessly wort