"You know what I mean. You're not a Westerner. You are what a cowpuncher would call a swell Easterner." Ignoring Gray's grimace of dislike she went on, deliberately exaggerating her musical Texas drawl. "You are a person of education and culture; you speak languages; you have the broad 'a,' and if you had to go unshaven it would be a living death. You are rich, too, and probably play the piano. People like that don't admire cow-girls." The man laughed heartily. "In spite of my broad 'a' and my safety razor, I'm as much of a man's man as your father. Frankly, I don't admire cowgirls, but I do admire you and everything you say about yourself adds to that admiration. If your father is Tom Parker--well. I congratulate you upon an admirable taste in the selection of parents." "Do you know him?" Barbara eagerly inquired. "No. But I know of him and I know what he stands for. I think we have many things in common, and I venture to say that he is going to like me." Barbara smiled. This vibrant stranger had an air about him and an irresistible magnetism. It was flattering to receive marked attentions from a person of his age and consequence--the girl felt an access of importance--and the tone of his voice, his every look, assured her that she had indeed challenged his deepest interest. She colored faintly as he ran on: "So you're a partner of Henry Nelson's! He doesn't deserve it and--our friendship ceases. I shall now hate him. Yes, henceforth he and I shall be enemies." "I love to be flattered, but please don't become Henry's enemy. The most dreadful things happen to them."