t was not optimism.
Rather might it not be a purpose made of steel, bendable but not
breakable, reinforced by a knowledge of conditions which she would have
given worlds to learn?

"Is she not beautiful?"

"I am not a poet."

"Wait a moment," her eyes widening. "I believe you know who did commit
that outrage."

For the first time he frowned.

"Very well; I promise not to ask any more questions."

"That would be very agreeable to me." Then, as if he realized the rudeness
of his reply, he added: "Before I leave I will tell you all you wish to
know, upon one condition."

"Tell it!"

"You will say nothing to any one, you will question neither Miss Harrigan
nor myself, nor permit yourself to be questioned."

"I agree."

"And now, will you not take me over to your friends?"

"Over there?" aghast.

"Why, yes. We can sit upon the grass. They seem to be having a good
time."

What a man! Take him over, into the enemy's camp? Nothing would be more
agreeable to her. Who would be the stronger, Nora or this provoking man?

So they crossed over and joined the group. The padre smiled. It was a
situation such as he loved to study: a strong man and a strong woman, at
war. But nothing happened; not a ripple anywhere to disclose the agitation
beneath. The man laughed and the woman laughed, but they spoke not to each
other, nor looked once into each other's eyes.

The sun was dropping toward the western tops. The guests were leaving by
twos and threes. The colonel had prevailed upon his dinner-guests not to
bother about going back to the village to dress, but to dine in the
clothes they wore. Finally, none remained but Harrigan, Abbott, the
Barone, the padre and Courtlandt. And they talked noisily and agreeably
concerning man-affairs until Rao gravely announced that dinner was
served.

It was only then, during the lull which followed, that light was shed upon
the puzzle which had been subconsciously stirring Harrigan's mind: Nora
had not once spoken to the son of his old friend.

CHAPTER XIII

EVERYTHING BUT THE TRUTH

"I don't see why the colonel didn't invite some of the ladies," Mrs.
Harrigan complained.

"It's a man-party. He's giving it to please himself. And I do not blame
him. The women about here treat him abominably. They come at all times of
the day and night, use his card-room, order his servants about, drink his
whisky and smoke his cigarettes, and generally invite themselves to
luncheon and