to assay conversation with Irene.
Indeed, from their meeting at the doorway his eyes scarcely left her.
He chose to call her cook.

"Swell pancakes, cook," was his opening remark. "Can you find another
for yours truly?"

She refilled his plate without answer.

"Used to know a girl mighty like you," he went on. "Waitress in the
Royal Edward. Gee, but she was swell! A pippin! Class! Say, she had
'em all guessing. Had me guessing myself for awhile. But just for
awhile." He voiced these remarks with an air of intense self-approval
more offensive than the words.

Irene felt the colour rise about her neck and cheeks and run like an
over-flowing stream into her ears and about her hair. It was evident
that, for a second time, Dave had chosen to say nothing to strangers
about her presence at the ranch. But that was not what brought the
colour. She was addressed as a menial, as a hired helper in the Elden
household! Her own honesty told her that even that was not what
brought the colour. It was not even the man's insolent familiarity; it
was his assumption that his familiarity would not be resented. Her
father and Mr. Elden were in Dave's room; Dave had stopped eating and
she saw the veins rising in his clenched fists. But the challenge was
to her, and she would accept it; she felt no need of his protection.

"Fill your stomach," she said, passing more pancakes; "your head is
hopeless."

He attempted a laugh, but the meal was finished in silence. The
stranger lit a cigarette, and Irene went to the door with Dave. An
over-lace of silver moonlight draped the familiar objects near at hand
and faded into the dark, vague lingerie of night where the spruce trees
cut their black wedge along the valley.

"Come for a walk," he whispered. "The horses are tired, so let's walk.
. . . It's our last chance."

She ran for her sweater and rejoined him in a moment. They walked in
silence down a path through the fragrant trees, but Dave turned from
time to time to catch a glimpse of her face, white and fine as ivory in
the soft light. He had much to say; he felt that the ages could not
utter all he had to say to-night, but he was tongue-tied under the
spell of her beauty.

"You squelched him, all right," he broke out at length.

"Just in time, too, I think," she replied. "I was watching your hands."

He smiled a quiet but very confident smile. "Reenie," he said, "that
fellow makes me sick. All the way out he