He had been looking at her intently, narrowly, searchingly. He saw what she herself had not seen--the natural changes that ten years had brought to her. He saw other things--that she had not suspected--a certain blasé sophistication; a too bold and artful expression of the eyes--as though she knew their power and the lure of them; the slightly hard curve in the corners of her mouth; a second character lurking around her--indefinite, vague, repelling--the subconscious self, that no artifice can hide--the sin and the shame of deeds unrepented. If there had been a time when he had loved her, its potence could not leap the lapse of years and overcome his repugnance for her kind, and he looked at her coldly, barring her progress with a hand, which caught her two and held them in a grip that made her wince. "What are you doing here? How did you get in? When did you come?" He fired the questions at her roughly, brutally. "Why, Trev." She gulped, her smile fading palely. The conquest was not to be the easy one she had thought--though she really wanted him--more than ever, now that she saw she was in danger of losing him. She explained, earnestly pleading with eyes that had lost their power to charm him. "I heard you were here--that you were in trouble. I want to help you. I got here night before last--to Manti. Rosalind Benham had written about you to Ruth Gresham--a friend of hers in New York. Ruth Gresham told me. I went directly from Manti to Benham's ranch. Then I came here--about dusk, last night. There was a man here--your foreman, he said. I explained, and he let me in. Trev--won't you welcome me?" "It isn't the first time I've been in trouble." His laugh was harsh; it made her cringe and cry: "I've repented for that. I shouldn't have done it; I don't know what was the matter with me. Harvey had been telling me things about you--" "You wouldn't have believed him--" He laughed, cynically. "There's no use of haggling over _that_--it's buried, and I've placed a monument over it: 'Here lies a fool that believed in a woman.' I don't reproach you--you couldn't be blamed for not wanting to marry an idiot like me. But I haven't changed. I still have my crazy ideas of honor and justice and square-dealing, and my double-riveted faith in my ability to triumph over all adversity. But women--Bah! you're all alike! You scheme, you plot, you play for place; you are selfish, cold; you snivel and whine--There is more of it, but I can't think of any more. But--let's face this matter squarely. If you still like me, I'm sorry for you, for I can't say that the sight of you has stirred any old passion in me. You shouldn't have come out here." "You're terribly resentful, Trev. And I don't blame you a bit--I deserve it all. But don't send me away. Why, I--love you, Trev; I've loved you all these years; I loved you when I sent you away--while I was married to Harvey; and more afterwards--and now, deeper than ever; and--"