was a good hand at inventing explanations, and after a
moment's seeking for some reason, I plumped out, "Because I
feared you might not think it proper to use my car, and I suppose
it's my presence that made you think it."

She took my stupid fumble very nicely; laughing merrily while
saying, "If you like mountains and moonlight, Mr. Gordon, and
don't mind the lack of a chaperon, get a stool for yourself,
too." What was more, she offered me half of the lap-robe when I
was seated beside her.

I think she was pleased by my offer to go away, for she talked
very pleasantly, and far more intimately than she had ever done
before, telling me facts about her family, her Chicago life, her
travels, and even her thoughts. From this I learned that her
elder brother was an Oxford graduate, and that Lord Ralles and
his brother were classmates, who were visiting him for the first
time since he had graduated. She asked me some questions about
my work, which led me to tell her pretty much everything about
myself that I thought could be of the least interest; and it was
a very pleasant surprise to me to find that she knew one of the
old team, and had even heard of me from him.

"Why," she exclaimed, "how absurd of me not to have thought of it
before! But, you see, Mr. Colston always speaks of you by your
first name. You ought to hear how he praises you."

"Trust Harry to praise any one," I said. "There were some pretty
low fellows on the old team,--men who couldn't keep their word or
their tempers, and would slug every chance they got; but Harry
used to insist there wasn't a bad egg among the lot."

"Don't you find it very lonely to live out here, away from all
your old friends?" she asked.

I had to acknowledge that it was, and told her the worst part was
the absence of pleasant women. "Till you arrived, Miss Cullen,"
I said, "I hadn't seen a well-gowned woman in four years." I've
always noticed that a woman would rather have a man notice and
praise her frock than her beauty, and Miss Cullen was apparently
no exception, for I could see the remark pleased her.

"Don't Western women ever get Eastern gowns?" she asked.

"Any quantity," I said, "but you know, Miss Cullen, that it isn't
the gown, but the way it's worn, that gives the artistic touch."
For a fellow who had devoted the last seven years of his life to
grades and fuel and rebates and pay-rolls, I don't think that was
bad. At least it made Miss Cullen's mouth dimple at