Roger Hapgood, the stiff soreness of yesterday only aggravated by the
cramp which had stolen into his legs during the ride of to-day,
climbed down from the buckboard and limped across the lawn to where
Conniston stood.

"I say, Greek," he was growling, as he trudged forward, "what fool
thing are you going to do next?" He stopped suddenly, in his surprise
forgetting to shut his mouth. The same eyes which had laughed up into
his when she offered him ten cents as a tip were laughing into them
now. He dragged his hat from his head, stammering.

"Miss Crawford--for you are Miss Crawford, aren't you?" began
Conniston.

She nodded.

"I should have introduced myself. I am William Conniston, Junior, son
of William Conniston, Senior, as one might guess. This is my friend,
Mr. Hapgood."

The girl inclined her head very slightly and turned toward Conniston.

"If you have come all the way from the hills this morning," she was
saying, "and if you plan to go on to Crawfordsville, you will want to
rest until the cool of the evening. We have eleven-o'clock luncheon in
summer, and have already eaten. But if you will come in I think that
we can find something. And, anyway, you can rest until evening. If
you are not in a hurry to go right on?"

"We have all the time in the world!" Conniston hastened to assure her.
And Hapgood of the aching muscles added fervently, "If it's more than
a mile to Crawfordsville, I've got to rest awhile!"

"It is something more than that." She rose and moved toward the house.
"Through the short cut straight back into the mountains it's twenty."

Lonesome Pete was turning to drive toward a gap in the encircling
trees when the girl called to him to take Conniston's horse. And then
the three went to the house.

The flight of steps led them to a wide veranda, eloquent of comfort
with its deep wicker rockers and hammocks piled temptingly with
cushions. Then came the wide double doors, and, within, a long,
high-ceilinged room whose appointment in every detail spoke of wealth
and taste and the hand of a lavish spender. And into this background
the slender form of the girl in the close-fitting, becoming gown
entered as harmoniously as it had the other day when clad in khaki and
against a background of limitless desert.

The floor here was of hard wood, polished until it shone dully like a
mirror in a shaded room. No rugs save the two great bear-skins, one
black, the other white; no pictures beyond t