Keith faced toward home, with Redcloud following at his heels like a pet dog. For some reason, which he did not try to analyze, he was feeling light of heart--as though something very nice had happened to him. It might have been the unexpected clearing up of the mystery of the prairie-fire, though he was not dwelling particularly upon that. He was thinking a great deal more of Beatrice's blue-brown eyes, which had never been more baffling, so far as he knew. And his blood was still dancing with the smile she had given him; it hardly seemed possible that a girl could smile just like that and not mean anything. When he reached the level, where she was waiting for him, he saw that she had her arms around the neck of her horse, and that she was crying dismally, heart-brokenly, with an abandon that took no thought of his presence. Keith had never seen a girl cry like that before. He had seen them dab at their eyes with their handkerchief, and smile the next breath--but this was different. For a minute he didn't quite know what to do; he could hear the blood hammering against his temples while he stood dumbly watching her. He went hesitatingly up, and laid a gloved hand deprecatingly upon her shoulder. “Don't do that, Miss Lansell! The fellow isn't worth it. He's only living the life he chose for himself, and he doesn't mind, not half as much as you imagine. I know how you feel--I felt sorry for him myself--but he doesn't deserve it, you know.” He stopped; not being able, just at the moment, to think of anything more to say about Kelly. Beatrice, who had not been thinking of Kelly at all, but remorsefully of a fellow she had persisted in misjudging, only cried the harder. “Don't--don't cry like that! I--Miss Lansell--Trix--darling!” Keith's self-control snapped suddenly, like a rope when the strain becomes too great. He caught her fiercely in his arms, and crushed her close against him. Beatrice stopped crying, and gasped. “Trixie, if you must cry, I wish you'd cry for me. I'm about as miserable a man--I want you so! God made you for me, and I'm starving for the feel of your lips on mine.” Then Keith, who was nothing if not daring, once he was roused, bent and kissed her without waiting to see if he might--and not only once, but several times. Beatrice made a half-hearted attempt to get free of his arms, but Keith was not a fool--he held her closer, and laughed from pure, primitive joy. “Mr. Cameron!” It was Beatrice's voice, but it had never been like that before. “I think you might call me Keith,” he cut in. “You've got to begin some time, and now is as good a time as any.” “You--you're taking a good deal for granted,” she said, wriggling unavailingly in his arms. “A man's got to, with a girl like you. You're so used to turning a fellow down I believe you'd do it just from habit.” “Indeed?” She was trying to be sarcastic and got kissed for her pains.