. However, he gave no sign, contenting
himself with a cordial reply.

"You are very kind. I too should like a chat. You see, I am a
'tenderfoot,' and you have been kind enough to pass over my
shortcomings."

Diane led the way into the house. And Tresler, following her, was
struck with the simple comfort of this home in the wilds. It was a
roomy two-storied house, unpretentious, but very capacious. They
entered through one of three French windows what was evidently a
useful sort of drawing-room-parlor. Beyond this they crossed a
hallway, the entrance door of which stood open, and passed into a
dining-room, which, in its turn, opened directly into a kitchen
beyond. This room looked out on the woods at the back. Diane explained
that her father's sanctum was in front of this, while behind the
parlor was his bedroom, opposite the dining-room and kitchen. The
rooms up-stairs were bedrooms, and her own private parlor.

"You see, we keep no female servants, Mr. Tresler," the girl said, as
she brought a pot of steaming coffee from the kitchen and set it on
the table. "I am housekeeper. Joe Nelson, the choreman, is my helper
and does all the heavy work. He's quite a character."

"Yes, I know. I've met him," observed Tresler, dryly.

"Ah! Try that ham. I don't know about the cold pie, it may be tough.
Yes, old Joe is an Englishman; at least, he was, but he's quite
Americanized now. He spent forty years in Texas. He's really an
educated man. Owned a nice ranch and got burned out. I'm very fond of
him; but it isn't of Joe I want to talk."

"No."

The man helped himself to the ham and veal pie, and found it anything
but tough.

Diane seated herself in a chair with her back to the uncurtained
window, through which the early summer sun was staring.

"You have met Jake Harnach and made an enemy of him," she said
suddenly, and with simple directness.

"Yes; the latter must have come anyway."

The girl sighed, and her eyes shone with a brooding light. And
Tresler, glancing at her, recognized the sadness of expression he had
noticed at their first meeting, and which, he was soon to learn, was
habitual to her.

"I suppose so," she murmured in response. Then she roused herself, and
spoke almost sharply. "What would you have done had he struck you? He
is a man of colossal strength."

Tresler laughed easily. "That depends. I'm not quite sure. I should
probably have done my best to retaliate. I had an alternative. I might
hav