talked in low voices about Mr. Excell.

"The old man looks pretty well run down, don't he?" said Harold.

"He worries a whole lot about you."

"He needn't to. When does he go back?"

"He wants to stay all day--just as long as he can."

"He'd better pull right out on that ten o'clock train. His being here is
sure to give me away sooner or later."

It was hard for the father to say good-by. He had a feeling that it was
the last time he should ever see him, and his face was gray with
suffering as he faced his son for the last time. Harold became not
merely unresponsive, he grew harsher of voice each moment. His father's
tremulous and repeated words seemed to him foolish and absurd--and also
inconsiderate. After he was gone he burst out in wrath.

"Why can't he act like a man? I don't want anybody to snivel over me.
Suppose I _am_ to be shot this fall, what of it?"

This disgust and bitterness prepared him, strange to say, for his call
upon Mary. He entered the house, master of himself and the situation.
His nerves were like steel, and his stern face did not quiver in its
minutest muscle, though she met him in most gracious mood, dressed as
for conquest and very beautiful.

"I'm so glad you stayed over," she said. "I have been so eager to hear
all about your life out there." She led the way to the little parlor
once more and drew a chair near him.

"Well," he began, "it isn't exactly the kind of life your Mr. King
leads."

There was a vengeful sneer in his voice which Mary felt as if he had
struck her, but she said gently:

"I suppose our life does seem very tame to you now."

"It's sure death. I couldn't stand it for a year; I'd rot."

Mary was aware that some sinister change had come over him, and she
paused to study him keenly. The tremulous quality of his voice and
action had passed away. He was hard, stern, self-contained, and she
(without being a coquette) determined that his mood should give way to
hers. He set himself hard against the charm of her lovely presence and
the dainty room. Mary ceased to smile, but her brows remained level.

"You men seem to think that all women are fond only of the quiet things,
but it isn't true. We like the big deeds in the open air, too. I'd like
to see a cattle ranch and take a look at a 'round-up,' though I don't
know exactly what that means."

"Well, we're not on the round-up all the time," he said, relaxing a
little. "It's pretty quiet part of the time; that is,