and enticing--if a man could hope to live long
enough to get really well acquainted with her."

"She is," declared Blount, with the air of one who had lived quite long
enough to know.

Once more Gantry was putting two and two together. Blount's
determination to go West and grow up with the country--his father's
country--was apparently a very sudden one. Had the decision turned
entirely upon the senator's telegram? Gantry, wise in his generation,
thought not.

"You say that as if you'd been taking a few lessons," he laughed. Then,
with the friendly impudence which only a college comradeship could
excuse: "Is she here to-night?"

"No," said Blount, unguardedly making the response which admitted so
much more than it said.

"Tell me about her," Gantry begged. "I don't often read a love story,
but I like to hear 'em."

If it had been any one but Gantry, Blount would probably have had a
sharp attack of reticence, with outward symptoms unmistakable to the
dullest. But the time, the surroundings, and the exceeding newness of
Patricia's "No" combined to break down the barriers of reserve.

"There isn't much to tell, Dick," he began half humorously, half in
ill-concealed self-pity. "I've known her for a year, and I've loved her
from the first day. That is Chapter One; and Chapter Two ends the story
with one small word. She says 'No.'"

"The dickens she does!" said Gantry, in hearty sympathy. Then: "But
that's a good sign, isn't it? Haven't I heard somewhere that they always
say 'No' at first?"

Blount laughed in spite of himself. Gantry, the Dick Gantry of the
college period, had always been a man's man, gay, light-hearted, and
care-free to the outward eye, but in reality one who was carrying
burdens of poverty and distress which might well have crushed an older
and a stronger man. There had been no time for sentiment then, and
Blount wondered if there had been in any later period.

"I am afraid I can't get any comfort out of that suggestion," he
returned. "When Miss Patricia Anners says 'No,' I am quite sure she
means it."

"Think so?" said Gantry, still sympathetic. "Well, I suppose you are the
best judge. Tough, isn't it, old man? What's the obstacle?--if you can
tell it without tearing the bandages off and saying 'Ouch!'"

"It is Miss Anners's career."

"H'm," was the doubtful comment; "I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate
that a little for me. I'm not up in the 'career' classification."

"She has been stud