ot. To be sure he learned with the first frank gleam in Sophie's
gray eyes that she still held for him that mysterious pulse-quickening
lure, that for him her presence was sufficient to stir a glow no other
woman had ever succeeded in kindling ever so briefly. But he had
acquired poise, confidence, a self-mastery not to be disputed. He said
to himself that he could stand the gaff now. He could face facts. And
he said to himself further, a little wistfully, that Sophie Carr was
worth all the pangs she had ever given him--more.

He could detect no change in her. That was one of the queer, personal
characteristics she possessed--that she could pass beyond his ken for
months, for years he almost believed, and when he met her again she
would be the same, voice, manner, little tricks of speech and gesture
unchanged. Meeting Sophie after that year was like meeting her after a
week. Barring the clothes and the surroundings that spoke of ample means
tastefully expended, the general background of her home and associates,
she seemed to him unchanged. Yet when he reflected, he was not so sure
of this. Sophie was gracious, friendly, frankly interested when he
talked of himself. When their talk ran upon impersonal things the old
nimbleness of mind functioned. But under these superficialities he could
only guess, after all, what the essential woman of her was now. He could
not say if she were still the queer, self-disciplined mixture of cold
logic and primitive passion the Sophie Carr of Lone Moose had revealed
to him. He was not sure if he desired to explore in that direction. The
old scars remained. He shrank from acquiring new ones, yet perforce let
his thought dwell upon her with reviving concentration. After all, he
said to himself, it was on the knees of the gods.

At any rate he was not to be deterred from his project. He had served
his apprenticeship in the game. He was eager to try his own wings in a
flight of his own choosing.

Since he had evolved a definite plan of going about that, he entered
decisively upon the first step. Upon reaching San Francisco he bearded
John P. Henderson in his mahogany den and outlined a scheme which made
that worthy gentleman's eyes widen. He heard Thompson to an end,
however, with a growing twinkle in those same, shrewd, worldly-wise
orbs, and at the finish thumped a plump fist on his desk with a force
that made the pen-rack jingle.

"Damned if I don't go you," he exclaimed. "I said in the