Pratt's gasp of wonder and amazement made the old Captain turn to look. Above her brow was a crescent of sparkling stones. The long, graceful earrings lay lovingly upon the bared, velvet shoulders of the girl. The bracelets clasped the firm flesh of her arms warmly. The collar of gems sparkled at her throat. The brooch blazed upon her bosom. And around her slender waist was the great belt of gold. She was a wonderful sight! Pratt was dazzled--amazed. The old ranchman poked him in the ribs. "What do you think of _that_?" he demanded. "Went right down to the bottom of the chest to get all that stuff. Isn't she the whole show?" And Frances had hard work to keep back the tears. She knew that was exactly what she was--a show. She could see the change slowly grow in Pratt's features. His wonder shifted to disapproval. After the first shock he realized that the exhibition of the gems on such an occasion as this was in bad taste. Why! she was like a jeweler's window! The gems were wonderfully beautiful, it was true. But they would better be on velvet cushions and behind glass to be properly appreciated. "Do you like me, Daddy?" she asked, softly. "My mercy, Frances! I scarcely know you," he admitted. "You certainly make a great show." "Are you satisfied?" she asked again. "I--I'd ought to be," he breathed, solemnly. "You--you're a beauty! Isn't she, Pratt?" "Save my blushes," Frances begged, but not lightly. "If I suit you exactly, Daddy, I shall appear at dinner this way." "Sure! Show them to our guests. There's not another woman in the Panhandle can make such a show." Frances, with a sharp pain at her heart, thought this was probably true. "Wait, Daddy," she said. "Let me run back and make one little change. You wait there in the cool reception-room, and see how I look next time." She could no longer bear the expression of Pratt's eyes. Turning, she gathered up her skirts and scuttled back to her room. Her cheeks were afire. Her lips trembled. She had to fight back the tears. One by one she removed the gaudy ornaments. She left the crescent in her wavy brown hair and the old-fashioned brooch at her breast. Everything else she stripped off and flung into a drawer, and locked it. These two pieces of jewelry might be heirlooms that any young girl could wear with taste at her "coming out" party. She ran to the vases and took a great bunch of Pratt's flowers which she carried in her gloved hand when she went down for the second time to show herself to her father. This time she tripped lightly. Her cheeks were becomingly flushed. Her bare throat, brown and firm, rose from the soft laces of her dress in its unadorned beauty. The very dress she wore seemed more simple and girlish--but a thousand times more fitting for her wearing. "Daddy!" She burst into the dimly lighted room. He wheeled in his chair, removed the pipe from his mouth, and stared at her again.