"Oh, he wouldn't do that!" she cried, with a gulp. "That's just what he is planning. He didn't meet you here until after dark, I judge. You'll both go to the train separately--I overheard that part. Afterwards he could return from the coast and deny that he had ever had anything to do with you, and it would simply be your word against his. And which would people hereabouts believe, tell me that, which would they believe, yours or his, after you had gone wrong?" The girl sat frozen. Then suddenly she began to cry, softly and with jerks of her shoulders. Weir reached out and patted her arm. "What's your name?" he asked. "Mary--Mary Johnson." "Mary, I'm interfering in your affairs only because I know what men will do. You must take no chances. If this fellow is really anxious to marry you, he'll do it here in Bowenville." After a few sobs she wiped her eyes. "He said he didn't dare get the license in San Mateo, or his folks would have stopped our marriage." "Then you should stay here to-night, go to the next county seat and be married to-morrow. His parents are bound to learn about it once you're married. A few days more or less make no difference. And though I should return to my work, I'll just stay over a day and take you in my car to-morrow to see that you're married straight and proper. Why go clear to Los Angeles?" "He said it would be our honeymoon--and--and I had never been away from here." "What's his name?" She hesitated in uncertainty whether or not she should answer. "Ed Sorenson," came at last from her lips. Steele Weir slowly thrust his head forward, fixing her with burning eyes. "Son of the big cattleman?" he demanded. "Yes, sir." "And you love him?" "Yes, oh, yes!" Weir sat back in his seat, lighted a cigarette and stared past her head at the opposite partition. The evil strain of the father had been continued in the son and was working here to seduce this simple, ignorant girl, incited by her physical freshness and the expectation that she should be easy prey. "Well, I doubt if he loves you," he said, presently. "He does, he does!" "If he really does above everything else in the world, he'll be willing to marry you openly, no matter what his father may say or do. That's the test, Mary. If he's in earnest, he'll agree at once to go with us to the next county seat to-morrow and be married there by a minister. Isn't that true? Answer me that squarely; isn't it true?" "Yes, sir." "Then by that we'll decide. If he agrees, well and good; if he refuses, that will show him up--show he never had any intention of marrying you. I'm a stranger to you, but I'm your friend. And you're not going to Los Angeles unmarried!"