But Ben did not stop to explain. Already he was at the door of the vestibule. "Don't ask me now. Do as I say, and you'll see!" And he stepped inside. Within the entrance, he paused for a moment. He had never been in any room of the house except the library adjoining; and after a few seconds, walking over, he tapped twice on the door. There was no answer, and he stepped inside. The place was empty, but, listening from the dining-room on the left he heard the low intermittent murmur of voices in conversation and the occasional click of china. Sliding doors connected the rooms, and again for an instant he hesitated. Then, pulling them apart, he stood fairly in the aperture. As he had expected, Florence and her mother were at breakfast. The doors had slid noiselessly, and for an instant neither observed him. Florence was nearest, half-facing him, and she was the first to glance up. As she did so, the coffee-cup in her hand shook spasmodically and a great brown blotch spread over the white tablecloth. Simultaneously her eyes widened, her cheeks blanched, and she stared as at a ghost. Her mother, too, turned at the spectacle, and her color shifted to an ashen gray. For some seconds not one of the three spoke or stirred. It was Mrs. Baker who first arose and advanced toward the intruder, as threateningly as it was possible for her to do. "Who, if I might ask, invited you to come this way?" she challenged. Ben took one step inside the room and folded his arms. "I came without being asked," he explained evenly. Mollie's weak oval face stiffened. She felt instinctively that her chiefest desires were in supreme menace. But one defense suggested itself--to be rid of the intruder at once. "I trust, then, you are enough of a gentleman to return the way you came," she said icily. Ben did not even glance at her. He was looking at the dainty little figure still motionless at the table. "If that is the mark of a gentleman, I am not one," he answered. The mother's face flamed. Like Scotty, her brain moved slowly, and on the spur of the moment inadequate insult alone answered her call. "I might have expected such a remark from a cowman!" she burst forth. Instantly Florence was upon her feet; but Ben Blair gave no indication that he had heard. His arms still folded, he took two steps nearer the girl, then stopped. "Florence," he said steadily, "I have just seen your father. We three--he, you, and I--are going back home, back to the prairies. Our train leaves at eleven o'clock. The carriage will be here in half an hour. You have plenty of time if you hurry." Again there was silence. Once more it was the mother who spoke first. "You must be mad, both of you!" she cried. "Florence is to be married in three days, and it would take two to go each way. You must be mad!" It was the girl's turn to grow pale. She began to understand. "You say you and papa evolved this programme?" she said sarcastically. "What part, pray, did he take?"