"Would it? Supposing I were to tell you, Hettie, that Geoffry Vallance can't take No for an answer, you would retort that you thought the more of him for it. But there is more than that. He should not have followed me out here. It was not right--it was even ungentlemanly. He has taken an unfair advantage in besieging me like this. In fact, he has placed me in a thoroughly false position." "But, dear," mischievously, "so far from following you, it was you who brought him here." "Say Mr Vipan, rather. _I_ am not an Indian fighter." Then spake Hettie Winthrop unadvisedly. "Well, Mr Vipan, then. But, Yseulte dear, you are always pleasant and cordial enough with Mr Vipan. Naturally the other poor fellow notices it." Yseulte turned her grand eyes full upon the speaker, and there was an angry flash in them. These two friends were as near a quarrel as they would ever be likely to arrive. "I don't know what you mean, Hettie. Mr Vipan saved me from the most horrible of fates. Am I to show my appreciation by keeping him at arm's length to please Geoffry Vallance?" "Tut-tut! You needn't be so fiery about it," said the other, laughing mischievously. "I didn't mean anything in particular that I know of, and I guess I don't hold a brief for any Geoffry Vallance." That evening, for the first time since her rescue just alluded to, Yseulte was strolling by herself. She had been strangely reserved and silent all day, and now had stolen quietly away to be alone and think. A stream flowed between its fringe of fig and wild plum trees, about two hundred yards off the camp, and now she stood meditatively gazing into the current and thinking with a pang over the loss of her trout-rod. The evening air was lively with many a sound, the screech of myriad crickets, the shout of the teamsters driving in the animals for the night, the occasional cry of a fretful infant, and the wash and bubble of the water flowing at her feet. Suddenly the utterance of her own name broke in upon her meditations. There stood Geoffry Vallance, the expression of his face that of eagerness to make the most of his opportunity. "Why do you always avoid me now?" he began, with a quick glance around, as if fearful of interruption, "What have I done that you will hardly speak to me now?" A flush of anger mounted to her face. "Have they come back from hunting?" she said, ignoring the question. "No, I came back by myself. I couldn't go on any longer till I knew what I had done to offend you. Have I not followed you to the end of another world? And this is how you treat me." She could have struck him. "What an idiot the boy is!" she thought. "Father was right. A witless idiot!"