The consideration of this enigma and the many possibilities it offered as collateral questions, occupied her fully, to the very grateful content of Mrs. Blake, who was genuinely tired and ashamed to say so. It was a consideration so perplexing that Margaret was prepared to allow Whitby to explain, when he was so unfortunate as to appear in company with Rose. He had overtaken her, a half-mile down the trail, but Margaret could not, of course, know this. They remained in earnest conversation for two or three minutes, when Rose went on and Whitby went around to the shed to put up his pony. Margaret ran down stairs and went out onto the porch. She felt better able to face him in the open. It was thus that Whitby, coming in at the back door, was directed out through the front one. Rapidly as Margaret moved, she was too great an attraction to escape instant notice. Whitby advanced with outstretched hand. "Ripping idea, taking us by surprise, Miss McAllister. Awful journey, you know, really." "We wished to avoid giving trouble. You are looking very well, Mr. Booth." "Fit as a fiddle, thank you. But—I say—you ’ll excuse me,—but are n’t you feeling a little—ah—seedy, now? I mean—" "I quite understand what you mean. Am I looking a little—ah—seedy, Mr. Booth?" "No, certainly not! Very stupid of me, I’m sure. I—ah—rather fancied—but of course I ’m wrong. This confounded dust gets in a chap’s eyes so—" "Do you mean that my eyes look dusty, Mr. Booth?" "Oh, I say! Now you ’re chaffing me. As if—" "Not in the least. Chaffing is an art in which I fail to excel. But if you mean that I look a little pale and dragged with the journey, you must remember that I do not pretend to have the vitality of a cow-girl." "Ah! Just so. And Mrs. Blake—she is with you, I presume." "The presumption is justified. Aunt’s vitality was even less equal to the journey than my own. She is resting and begs to be excused until she can say ’How do’ at the ranch." "Why—ah—how did Mrs. Blake know I called in?" Margaret bit her lip. "I happened to be looking from the window as you rode up," she explained, carelessly. "Ah! Just so. Miss McAllister, you don’t know me very well, not really; perhaps no better than I know you. I ’m no good at this sort of thing, this fencing with words, you know; I discovered that long ago; and I long ago adopted the only other method: to smash right through the guard. My presumption does n’t presume so far as to imagine you are jealous; I am not seeking causes; all I know is, you made me a promise when I came West, a conditional promise, I grant you: I was to make good. Well, I have n’t done half bad, really. I fancy Mr. McAllister would admit as much. Buck Peters admits more; and one has to be something of a man, you know, to merit that from Peters. He ’s the finest man I ever knew, myself, bar none. It is very good of you to hear me so patiently. I ’m coming to the kernel of the difficulty just now: