light-hearted as a child, with a nervous quaver now and then in her
voice as if a word would bring the tears. She looked at him thoughtfully
as they walked on.

"You ought to go to California again," she said abruptly.

"I can take tonics at home, if you mean that I need them."

"Yes. You are more worn and haggard than when we left Omaha. Every day
of the journey I used to see how the wrinkles left your forehead, and
your eye cleared and your voice changed. It was the mountain-air. There
is no tonic for you like the mountain-air."

Neckart shifted his hat uneasily, and turned to look at the river as
though the frank blue eyes anxiously inspecting his face hurt him.

"I was harassed and perplexed then as to the policy which I should adopt
for the paper in a certain political question. My grim looks were no
doubt owing to that. You decided the question for me."

"I? Why, I know nothing of politics."

"No. But the choice offered me was between right and financial ruin on
one side, and a fortune and neutrality on the other. It would be
impossible," in a tone which suddenly became careless and matter of
fact, "for any man to come in contact with a nature as absolutely honest
as yours, Miss Swendon, and not be influenced by it. I do not think I
spoke to you at all of this question, yet it seemed to me that you
dictated every step of my course. I never have told you of my affairs
since, yet every day I take your advice on them. It is always different
from that of my political friends, because it is simply the broad truth
and common sense. I follow it." He turned to her with one of his rare
smiles and an odd break in his controlled voice. "I hold your hand in
mine every step of my way."

She did not smile in return. She was standing still in the path, as
though she had been stopped by a blow. "Honest? _I_ honest?" she said.

The dog jumped up on her breast to go on with his romp. She pushed him
down, looking straight into Neckart's amazed face.

"You may have made mistakes: everybody is liable to do that," he
stammered. "But as for sincerity--"

She drew a long breath as if throwing off a burden: "No. I have been
honest. You are not wrong about me there. I have made no mistakes." She
turned and walked on quickly.

As he followed her he observed for the first time how steady was her
step and how close set the finely-cut jaws. His own mouth, by the way,
was coarser, but more facile: it spoke when silent: the chin wa