the truth of this, and was
disappointed in the realization of his dream of her. Materially she was
too perfect, too exotic, for the setting of Crawling Water.

"Why, you look just the same," she happily exclaimed. "And I? Have I
changed? Now, be careful what you say! You're not a bit of a courtier."

"Everything changes, doesn't it?" he said, slowly feeling his way.
"Except the heart?" His answer pleased her.

"Will you listen to that, Father? In the cattle country, too."

"Very pretty," the Senator observed judicially. "Inspired, perhaps."

"How long are you going to stay?" asked Wade.

Helen laughed happily.

"Perhaps that will depend upon how glad I think you are to have us."

She gave him an ardent glance, which he was not proof against, nor would
any other man have been so.

"No doubt of that." He laughed with her, his disappointment passing
before the old love spell, which she knew so well how to cast about him.
"You couldn't have come at a better time, either, for now there is some
one here who can be company for you. That is," he added lamely, "when
you're tired of having me around."

"Really?" Helen was a bit chilled by this obvious _faux pas_. Truly,
despite his worth as a man, Gordon Wade was no courtier. "Who is it?"

"Of course, you haven't heard of her, but you'll like her. She's Miss
Dorothy Purnell. Everybody does like her."

Helen affected a gayety which she could scarcely have been expected to
feel. Although she was not socially adept in concealing her real
feeling, Wade saw nothing wrong. Only the Senator twisted his mouth in a
grim smile.

"Oh, but I have heard of her; indeed, I have. Mr. Moran sent me a little
photograph of you both on horseback. Just see how her fame has crossed
the continent. I shall be charmed to meet her."

A great light dawned upon Wade.

"Then that was what he wanted with the picture," he exclaimed. "We
wondered at the time. I thought it pretty impudent of him, but, of
course, if he wanted it just to send to you, that was all right."

Miss Rexhill winced inwardly. In spite of herself, her face expressed a
certain amount of pique, for the implication was manifestly that if Race
Moran had wanted the picture for himself, the idea would have been
intolerable to Wade.

"Oh, yes, quite all right. You seem...." She checked herself, with the
reproach upon her tongue, reflecting that, after all, she was most fond
of Wade because of his naturalness. Maxwell Frayne, f