see The Lily standing back
of them, and frowning at the scene across.

Bill turned to greet her, holding out his hand, and his broad
shoulders shut out the view of Bacchanalia.

"The bartender says you drink nothing stronger than lemonade," she
said, looking up at the giant, "and I am glad to hear it. It is a
pleasure to meet men like you once in a while. It keeps one from
losing faith in all."

She sat down in one of the chairs--a trifle wearily, Dick thought, and
he noticed that there were lines under the eyebrows, melancholy,
pensive, that he had not observed before in the few times they had met
her. As on the occasion of their meeting at the mine, she appeared to
sense his thoughts, and turned toward him as if to defend herself.

"You are asking yourself and me the question, why, if I dislike
liquor, and gambling, and all this, I am owner of the High Light?" she
said, reverting to her old-time hardness. "Well, it's because I want
money. Does that answer you?"

"I didn't ask you a question," he retorted.

"No, but it's just like it always is with you! You looked one. I'm not
sure that I like you; you look so devilish clean-minded. You always
accuse me, without saying anything so that I can have a chance to
answer back. It isn't fair. I don't like to be made uncomfortable. I
am what I am, and can't help it."

She turned her frowning eyes on Bill, and they softened. She relented,
and for the first time in the evening her rare laugh sounded softly
from between her white, even teeth.

"You see," she said, addressing him, "I can't help being angry with
Mr. Townsend. I think I'm a little afraid of him. I'm a coward in some
ways. You're different. You just smile kindly at me, as if you were
older than Methuselah, and had all the wisdom of Solomon or Socrates,
and were inclined to be tolerant when you couldn't agree."

"Go on," Bill said. "You're doin' all the talkin'."

"I have a right to exercise at least one womanly prerogative, once in
a while," she laughed. And then: "But I am talking more than usual.
Tell me about the mine and the men? How goes it?"

They had but little to tell her, yet she seemed to find it interesting,
and her eyes had the absent look of one who listens and sees distant
scenes under discussion to the exclusion of all immediate surroundings.

"Have you met Bully Presby yet?" she asked.

They smiled, and told her they had.

"He is a wonderful man," she said admiringly. "He makes his wa