"It serves a young man right," thought Linda, "when he will bind himself on the wheel of business and act as if there was not one thing in the world worth having but money!" Hadn't she seen to what such a course had brought her father? She spoke:-- "There's a lot of nonsense in all this kow-towing to business," she said. "Why do men make such slaves of themselves?" "So their women can have a house like this, several gowns like yours, and a motor like the one you're going out in," responded King dully. Linda's rosy lips curled. "Fred Whitcomb's motor is last year's model." Her companion smiled. "There, you see!" he remarked. "There's nothing for me to do but to keep on hustling so you can always have the latest." Color flashed over Linda's face, but she shrugged carelessly. "Oh, of course," she retorted, "everything is Eve's fault." "Pretty sure to be," returned King, nodding slowly. "_Cherchez la femme. Toujours cherchez la femme._" He regarded her for a moment of silence, during which she was so uncomfortable that she raised both hands to arrange an imaginary hairpin at the back of her head. "Where have you decided to go?" she asked at last, continually warmer under his eyes, and wondering if Fred Whitcomb had had a puncture. "Why, I thought it would be great to spend long Colorado days in the saddle with you." "Did you really?" Linda's little laugh had a most discouraging note. "Yes, but Dr. Young jumped on that. He said I mustn't go within gunshot of your father." Linda shook her head. "I should advise you not to myself. I'm a pretty good shot." King looked up. "It would be great, though. Think of having you through with all this college foolery, and having plenty of time to talk to you." The girl's eyes brightened. "Pray, did you consider Yale foolery?" "A lot of it, yes," replied King, wearily; "but never mind, Linda, we're through with all that. I thought of the long days out there in Estes Park, the divine air, 'the dark pilasters of the pines,' and you, sparkling and radiant, on a good horse, and I with time enough to tell you how I love you!" "Bertram!" Linda shot rather than rose to her feet, and her eyes launched arrows. "Sit down. Sit down. I shall have to stand if you don't, and I'm dog-tired. Didn't you know I loved you, Linda, honest now?" The girl sank into her chair. She was trying to think of the cruelest way to crush him. She opened her lips once or twice to speak and closed them again. King regarded her immovably, his worn look meeting her vital gaze. "Your taste in jokes is very poor," she said at last, and her tone was icy, "and you may rest assured that no regard for you will prevent my telling my father exactly what you have said." "You needn't. He knows it," returned King. His voice, which had brightened, relapsed into nervelessness. "My father knows it!" The girl could not restrain the exclamation.