ply. Churchill liked to
use sarcasm, as it made him feel superior.

But Harley was much disturbed by Churchill's statement. Sylvia was going
away, and her stay of two weeks might lengthen into months or become
permanent. And Mr. Plummer was going with her. Harley's own absence
would put him at a great disadvantage, and for a moment he suspected
that this stop at Salt Lake City was an artful movement on the part of
the "King," but reflection made him acquit Mr. Plummer, first, because
the "King" was too honest to do such a thing, and, second, because he
was not subtle enough to think of it.

While he was planning what he would do to face this unforeseen
development, a boy from the hotel handed him a note. Harley's heart
jumped when he saw that it was in the handwriting of Sylvia Morgan, and
it fluttered still further when she asked to see him in the hotel parlor
for a few minutes. He was apprehensive, too, because if she had anything
good to tell him she certainly would not send for him.

Sylvia was sitting in the parlor beside a window that looked out upon a
vast range of snow-covered mountains, rising like the serrated teeth of
a saw, and, although she heard his footsteps, she did not turn her face
until Harley stood beside her. Then she said, irrelevantly:

"Isn't that a grand view!"

"You did not send for me to tell me that," said Harley, with a certain
protecting tenderness in his tone, because what he took to be the
sadness in her face appealed to his manly qualities.

"No, I did not. I have been thinking over what we said to each other
when we were coming back from Crow's Wing, and I have concluded that it
was wrong."

"Why was it wrong? I love you, and I had the right to tell you so."

"No, you did not. You would have had were I free, but I am promised to
another. I was wrong to let you speak; I was wrong to listen to you."

"I will not admit it," said Harley, doggedly, "because Mr. Plummer is
going to give you up. He will see that he ought not to hold you to this
promise."

She smiled sadly.

"I must be loyal to him," she said, "and before starting for Salt Lake
City I want to tell you that you must not again speak to me of this."

"But I shall write to you in Salt Lake."

"You must not write of this. If you do, I will not open another one of
your letters."

"I promise not to write to you of love, but I make no promise after
that. You are not going from Salt Lake to Idaho? This is not an excuse