l in love with. Are you sure?"

"Very sure," she lifted her head. "I was sure last night, when you nearly
told me--before those Indians came. Why didn't you want to tell me?"

"Because I knew I'd no business to," replied Scott, roughly. "I've no
business to, now, but I'm human and when you stood there with the sun on
your hair, and that look on your face, I fell."

"I'll stand that way again," smiled Polly, "if you'll stop scowling and
say nice things to me. It isn't a criminal offense, Marc Scott, for an
unmarried man to fall in love with me. Don't feel so badly about it."

"It may not be criminal, but it's not square," replied Scott, obstinately.
"With you a rich man's daughter, and----"

"But not an heiress, remember! That makes a difference," she said,
coaxingly.

"Perhaps--anyhow, I'm glad you're not rich," said Scott, soberly. "I think
I'd fight with a rich wife."

"My dear Marc, you and I would fight, no matter who had the money. We're
the scrappy kind. But, on the other hand, we'll always make up again, and
that's what counts. That's what Joyce Henderson and I couldn't do. We went
for months and months without a quarrel, but when we once had one we
couldn't get over it."

"You're sure you've forgotten about that chap?"

"Quite. He doesn't exist."

Again they were silent, the sun picking out radiant bits of Polly's hair
to light upon as she stood leaning against Scott's arm, his rough coat
rubbing her soft skin.

"It's a nice old world," she said, drawing a long breath.

"It's good enough for me," he answered as he leaned over and kissed her.

"Do you know, I've been wondering for a week whether it was me or Mrs. Van
Zandt that you were in love with?" said Polly, with one of her sudden
smiles.

"Me? Care for----" Scott's voice died away in surprise.

"You behaved as though you did. You are always so gentle and pleasant with
her."

"I'm gentle and pleasant with everybody," declared Scott, stoutly. "I have
that kind of disposition."

"I think you'd better go and get the horses," suggested Polly. "I'd rather
not begin disagreeing with you just yet."

Scott, chuckling, went back after the horses. Polly, left alone, sat down
on a stone and gave a little sigh of contentment.

"To think," she said, incredulously, "that once I thought I was in love
with Joyce Henderson!"

"Polly!" Scott's voice was sharp. He came around the turn on a trot.
"Those cussed horses have cleared out and left us high an