as it should have been over finding her. He had been
too matter-of-fact and undemonstrative.

She never had loved Warden; she had not even respected him. She had
plumbed his nature and had found him narrow, selfish--even brutal. But
she had permitted him to make love to her occasionally--mildly, for what
doubtful amusement she got out of it, and she had responded merely for
the thrill it gave her to have a man pursue her.

When, after supper, Warden called her into his office and closed the
door behind her, she had steeled herself for any attack he might make.
She was calm, and unmoved by what she saw in Warden's face.

A lamp glowed on Warden's desk, and he motioned her to a chair that
stood beside it, so that when she seated herself the glare of the lamp
was on her face.

While she sat there, a little malice in her heart for Warden--because he
had dared to suspect her--he moved toward her and without saying a word
laid before her the handkerchief he had found.

She took it up deliberately, looked at it, and as deliberately stuck it
into her belt.

"It's mine, Gary," she said.

"I found it in a bunk at a Circle L line camp, occupied during the storm
by Kane Lawler. I thought perhaps you would like to explain how it got
there."

"I left it there, Gary--I forgot it."

"You admit you were there?"

"Certainly. Why should I deny it? Do you want to know why I went there,
Gary?"

"I'd like to know, of course," said Warden. He was standing, tense, his
eyes glowing with passion that he was trying to control; his face
ashen.

"I started for the Circle L. I wanted to see Lawler. You didn't know
that I had met him one day at the foot of the stairs leading from your
office, in town. Well, I did, Gary; and I fell in love with him."

She heard Warden's gasp; saw his eyes glow into hers with a jealous fury
that seemed to threaten to drive him to violence.

"Bah; don't be silly, Gary," she admonished coldly. "You know I never
have cared for you in the way you wanted. I shall have to respect the
man I marry, and I never could respect you, Gary. You are too--too much
as you are now. You'd like to punish me, physically; you'd like to hurt
me, in some way--if you could. You'll never be a lover to any woman,
Gary--you are too insincere. You never have loved me; you have merely
been flattered over having me near you. And it is only your vanity that
is hurt, now."

Warden laughed unpleasantly; though she knew from the exp