"Very much!" replied Bowles, falling back into the familiar formula of polite conversation; and by the time the phonograph had started up on "Casey Jones" they were deep in a discussion of classic music. As often happens in good society, they discovered a wonderful similarity in their likes and dislikes; and by the time the nester girls began to arrive and the dance started up on the gallery, Bowles was very popular in the big house--that is, as far as the hostess was concerned. But the climax of the evening came at the close of the dance, just as Mr. Bowles was taking his leave. "Well, good-night, Mrs. Lee," he murmured as he stood in the half light of the porch. "It was so kind of you to invite us up." He paused then with the rest of his politenesses unsaid, for Dixie Lee was coming down the hall. "I can't say how much I have enjoyed talking with you, Mr. Bowles," returned the lady, offering him her hand. "It takes me back to my girlhood days, when music was the breath of my life. Perhaps----Oh, Dixie, have you met Mr. Bowles?" There was silence for a moment as their eyes met across the abyss, hers stern and forbidding, his smiling and conciliatory; and then Dixie bowed very stiffly. "Why, not that I remember," she replied, with a militant toss of the head. "How do you do, Miss Lee," observed Mr. Bowles, bowing formally as he received his conge. "So glad to make your acquaintance!" And, murmuring other maddening phrases, he bowed himself out the door, leaving Dixie Lee to explain the feud in any way she chose. CHAPTER VIII A COWBOY'S LIFE As the name of the Deity, to a cowboy, means little more than a word to swear by, so the holy Sabbath is forgotten as a day of rest. Not that the hard-riding puncher would not rest if he got the chance, but the traditions of the cow business make no allowances for godliness and ease. For forty dollars and found, the round-up hand is expected to work every day in the month, and take all his Sundays in a bunch when the boss writes out his time. From daylight to dark are his hours of labor, with horse wrangling and night-guard to boot; and yet there are men of elegance and leisure who try to crush in on the job. Mr. Bowles rolled into bed a perfect gentleman, and something of a knight-errant as well; but when Gloomy Gus gave vent to his shrill morning call he turned in his blankets and muttered. As the dishpan yammered and clashed discordantly he shuddered like a craven; and when Gus finally kicked open the door he could have cursed like any cow-puncher. It was a dreary life he had elected to follow, a life of drudgery, hardship, and discomfort, and with no compensating element but the danger of getting killed. And all for the sake of a girl who never had met him before!