t he was embarrassed, though in truth he had had time
to be a bit ashamed of that moth-and-star observation of his. Instead,
he appeared quite self-possessed. And he was good-looking, remarkably
good-looking. And he didn't seem illiterate; quite the contrary,
Marcia thought. In an instant she catalogued this tall, dark,
calm-eyed man as interesting.

She twirled her parasol at him and laughed softly. A strand of blond
hair that was very becoming where it was, against her delicate cheek,
she tucked back where it evidently belonged, since there it looked even
more becoming.

"Mr. Hampton isn't here, is he?" she asked.

"No. Come to think of it, he did say this morning that he would be out
right after lunch to help me break Lovelady. But I haven't seen him."

"He wanted me to stroll out here with him," Marcia explained. "And I
wouldn't. It was too hot. Didn't you find it terribly hot about an
hour ago, Mr. Lee?"

As a matter of fact Bud Lee had been altogether too busy an hour ago
with the capers of Lovelady to note whether it was hot or cold. But he
courteously agreed with Miss Langworthy.

"Then," she ran on brightly, "it got cool all of a sudden. Or at least
I did. And I thought that Polly had come out here, so I walked out to
surprise him. And now, he isn't here!"

Marcia looked up at Lee helplessly, smilingly, fascinatingly. It was
quite as though she had added: "Oh, dear! What _shall_ I do?"

Pollock Hampton had fully meant to come. But by now he had forgotten
all about Bud Lee and horses to ride and to be bucked off by. A
telegram had come from a nasty little tailor in San Francisco who had
discovered Hampton's retreat and who was devilishly insistent upon a
small matter--oh, some suits and things, you know. The whole thing
totalled scarcely seven hundred dollars. He went to find Judith, to
beg an advance against his wages or allowance or dividends or whatever
you call it. Judith was out somewhere at the Lower End, Mrs. Simpson
thought. Hampton saddled his own horse and went to find her. All this
Marcia was to learn that evening.

After the swift passing of a few bright minutes, Marcia and Bud Lee
strolled together across the meadow to the spring. Marcia, it seemed,
was interested in everything. Lee told her much of the ways of horses,
of breaking them, of a score of little ranch matters, not without their
color. Marcia noted that he spoke rather slowly, and guessed that he
was c