Again she looked up at him, their eyes meeting steadily, searchingly.

"You say that you don't know who it was?" she challenged. And the eyes
into which she looked were as clear of guile as a mountain lake when he
answered:

"No. I don't know!"

Then through lips which were moulded to a passionate scorn no less of
self than of him, in a fierce whisper, she paid him in the coin of her
contempt with the one word: "_Liar_!"

She saw the anger leap up into his eyes and the red run into his bronzed
skin, she felt the arm about her contract tensely until for one dizzy
second she thought that he would crush her. And then they were swinging
on through the dance to the merry beat of the music and above the music
she heard his soft laugh.

He did not look at her, nor did she again lift her eyes to his. But both
of them saw Broderick where he stood near the door, his hands shoved
down into his pockets, his tall, gaunt form leaning against the wall.
His eyes had been following them, and there was in them an expression
hard to read. It might have been anger or distrust or suspicion.

And both Thornton and Winifred as they turned in the dance caught a
quick glimpse of the face of another man. It was Henry Pollard. He had
evidently just come in and as evidently had not seen Thornton and his
niece dancing together until this moment. And the look in his eyes
springing up naked and startled was a thing easy to read. For it was the
look of fear!

Winifred Waverly tried to tell herself that it was fear for her, at
seeing her in Thornton's arms. But she knew that it was not. Nor was it
fear for himself, not mere physical fear of Thornton. Already she knew
of her uncle that the man was no coward. It was not that kind of fear;
it was a fear that was apprehension, dread lest something might happen.
What? "_Dread that something he did not want her to know might become
known to her in her talk with Buck Thornton!_"

It was as though a voice had shouted it in her ear. Where so many things
were muddled in inexplicability this one matter seemed suddenly
perfectly clear to her. He had not wanted her to talk with Buck
Thornton! Why?

Thornton, with no further word to her, had bowed to her, his eyes hard
and stern, and taking a paper-wrapped packet from his vest pocket had
given it to her, and had walked swiftly to the door near which Broderick
stood. In spite of her her eyes had gone down the room after the tall
figure. And then something