iently recovered to sit upright in her chair.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded of Conward. "Why did he
threaten to shoot, and why did he leave as he did? You know; tell me."

"I am sure I wish I could tell you," said Conward, with all his
accustomed suavity. In truth Conward, having somewhat recovered from
his fright, was in rather good spirits. Things had gone better than he
had dared to hope. Elden was eliminated, for the present at any rate,
and now was the time to win Irene. Not just now, perhaps, but soon,
when the shock of her interrupted passion turned her to him for
companionship.

She stood before him, flushed and vibrating, and with flashing eyes.
"You're lying, Conward," she said, deliberately. "First you lied to
him and now you lie to me. There can be no other explanation. Where
is that gun? He said I would know what to do with it."

"I have it," said Conward, partly carried off his feet by her violence.
"I will keep it until you are a little more reasonable, and, perhaps, a
little more respectful."

"Irene," said Mrs. Hardy, sharply, "what way is that to speak to Mr.
Conward? You are out of your head, child. Such a scene, Mr. Conward.
Such a scene in my house! That cow _puncher_! I always knew it would
come out some time. It is breeding that tells, Mr. Conward. Oh, if
the papers should learn of this!"

"That's all you think of," Irene retorted. "A scene, and the papers.
You don't trouble to even wonder what was the occasion of the scene.
You and this--this _biped_, are at the bottom of it. You have been
planning to force me along a course I will not go, and you have done
something, something horrible--I don't know what--to cause Dave to act
as he did. But I'm going to know. I'm going to find out. You're
afraid of the papers. I'm not. I'll give the whole story to them
to-morrow. I'll tell that you insulted him, Conward, and how you stood
there, a grinning, gaping coward under the muzzle of his gun. How I
wish I had a photograph of it," she exclaimed, with a little hysterical
laugh. "It would look fine on the front page." She broke into peals
of laughter and rushed up the stairs.

In the morning she was very sober and pale, and marks of distress and
sleeplessness were furrowed in her face. She greeted her mother with
cold civility, and left her breakfast untouched. She gave part of her
morning to Charlie; it was saving balm to her to have some one upon
whom she