"You see there was no demand for them before the discovery of gold, but when the miners came they wanted meat. And then there were travelling bands of bloodthirsty explorers. They and the miners murdered everything in sight—the white man generally does. I was told that the great novelist Dumas landed there in 1849, and one of his first performances was to kill an elk in Sacramento Valley." "Indeed, an interesting fact! These vast herds of elk retreated—where?" "To the Great Red Woods." "Haller," called Glen, "I’d like to climb White Face to-morrow; it’s such clear weather." "’Tis clear," replied Haller. "Liable to have snow on White Face." "Are you going to put me in your book?" asked Indiana. "Am I the type of American woman you will describe?" "I am not going to put you in my book," answered Lord Canning. "I am going to put you—well, never mind. You are not the type—you are a type." "That’s so," assented Indiana. "The states are too large for any one distinctive type of woman. We all have that ’must-be-up-and-doing’ kind of spirit. You call it ’nervous activity.’ The Southern girl is neutrally active; the Eastern girl aggressively active." "The Western girl—" suggested Lord Canning. "Judge for yourself." She stood before him, her hands clasped behind her. "Physically light weight, but strong. I can climb a tree, vault a fence, ride a horse bareback, straddle and side-saddle. Mentally light-weight, but bright, with an enormous faculty for devouring literature, good, bad and indifferent. I love good music, and the impressionist school of painting. Character undeveloped; politically, an expansionist. I believe in the imperialistic policy, in annexation—stretching out and grabbing everything I can get." "Bravo! Charming!" exclaimed Lord Canning, clapping his hands. "You are most interesting." "As a study—or—or—a woman." "Both," said Lord Canning. "When I cease to study your imperfections, I commence to love them." He bent over her, looking into her eyes. Glen struck a discord on the mandolin. "I suggest that we start," interrupted Mrs. Bunker. Lord Canning stood seriously gazing into the fire in the hall, while the ladies donned their wraps. His face brightened when he saw Indiana on the little balcony behind the Persian rug. She had put on a long white circular. The hood, edged with swansdown, made a pretty frame for her little flushed face. Her eyes, with their dilating pupils, looked dark under the yellow hair. "Come down, little snow maiden! Or, are you afraid you will melt away in the heat of the fire?" He met her at the foot of the stairs, and took her hand in a tender pressure. Mrs. Bunker coughed slightly behind them, and Indiana ran quickly out on the balcony, leaving Lord Canning under the amused fire of Mrs. Bunker’s bright eyes. She shook her finger at him, and would have followed Indiana, but Lord Canning did not wish to be taken so lightly.