“Ah,” he said, with the air of one who pats himself on the back for his own perspicacity. “You didn’t introduce yourself a moment ago, as you may remember, but I was sure you were Music.” “Why were you?” she asked. “Because you look it.” “Harmony or discord?” she queried, with the bright little laugh remindful of the bird songs. “How can you ask! Celestial harmony--no less!” It was only a matter of a hundred yards, between the oak-tree target and the firing-stand, but they were getting on very well, indeed. “Following that line of reasoning, you might say that Miss Longstreet looks picturesque, I suppose? And Miss Farron----” “Miss Farron is far too charming to warrant any allusion to figures, mathematical or other,” he retorted lightly. “And how about Professor Billy?” Tregarvon chuckled. “Is that what you call him? I’m glad I have a Christian name that can’t very well be nicked entirely out of all resemblance to the original. Which reminds me: have I got to call you ‘Miss Richardia’? It sounds awfully formal--don’t you think?--in the mouth of a man who has been familiarly shot at by its possessor.” “You had better,” she replied calmly. “I am ‘Miss Dick’ in the classrooms; but that is the student body’s privilege. Other people have to earn it.” “Consider me an employee from this moment, if you please. I’m good at earning things.” “Have you earned the Ocoee property?” she asked, altogether, as it appeared, by way of making conversation. “No; but my father did--very bitterly, as it turned out. May I ask what you know about the Ocoee?” “Only what every one knows: that it brings sorrow and ruin to everybody who has anything to do with it.” They had reached the rifle-stand, and Hartridge was reloading the target-gun for Miss Farron. There was still a little isolation for Tregarvon and his companion, and the young man made the most of it. “Your words imply a lot more than they say,” he suggested. “I shall take an early opportunity to make my Highmount call, and when I do, perhaps you will tell me some of the things I need to know.” “Professor Hartridge or President Caswell can tell you better than I can,” she demurred, as one dismissing an unpleasant subject. “I only know that the mine has always been a wretched failure; first a thing of broken promises, and afterward a cunningly devised pitfall for the unwary.” If Tregarvon had for his major weakness the love of women, he was not lacking such other qualities as may go with broad shoulders, good gray eyes set wide apart, a clean-cut face, and a resolute jaw. The squareness of the jaw was emphasized when he said: “This is the time when the Ocoee quits being a failure, Miss Richardia. It is up to me to make it a success, and I mean to do it.” It was at this conjuncture that Miss Farron, trying vainly to sight the rifle over the fallen-tree firing-stand, broke in upon the _tête-à-tête_.