intended. From the vantage ground of only
partial understanding a pair of dark eyes looked on, smiling with the
wisdom which is ever the claim of the onlooker.

"This is my sister, Helen, Mr. Bryant," Kate said, with quiet
enjoyment, as her sister, perfectly composed once more, but still
angry with the world in general, abruptly entered the room from that
part of the house where her bedroom was situated.

As the words fell upon her ears, and she looked into the good-looking,
cheerful face of the man, all Helen's feelings underwent a shock, as
though a mighty seismological upheaval were going on inside her.

The man who had witnessed her discomfiture--the man who had dared to
be within one hundred miles of her when her daintily shod feet, with
a display of diaphanous stocking, had been waving in the air like two
wobbly semaphores celebrating Dominion Day or the Fourth of July,
or--or something. Those silly looking prying eyes had seen. How dared
he? What right had he to be walking down that particular trail at that
particular moment? How dared he whistle, any way? What right had he in
Rocky Springs? Why--why was he on earth at all?

At that moment Helen felt that if there was one combination in the
world she disliked more than another it was blue eyes and fair hair.
Yes, and long noses were hateful, too; they were always poking
themselves into other people's business. Big men were always clumsy.
If this man hadn't been clumsy he--he--wouldn't have been there to
see. Yes, she hated this man, and she hated her sister for standing
there looking on, grinning like--like a Cheshire cat. She didn't know
what a Cheshire cat was like, but she was certain it resembled Kate at
that moment.

"How d'you do?"

The frigidity of Helen's greeting was a source of dismay to the man,
who had suddenly become aware that she was again dressed in the
tailored suit which had so caught his fancy earlier in the day. His
dismay became evident to Kate, the onlooker. Helen, too, noted the
effect in his sobering eyes, and was resentfully glad.

"It was a lucky chance my coming along," Bill blundered. "You see, if
the dew had got on these books they'd have got all mussed. Must have
been a sort of fate about my being around, and--and finding 'em for
you."

"Fate?" sniffed Helen, with the light of battle in her eyes, while
Kate began to laugh.

"Why, sure," said Bill eagerly. "Don't you believe in fate? I do.
Say," he went on, gaining confid