When at last she did meet him, it was by pure chance. Dusk was falling. She was passing the yard where his storehouse was. He wheeled out and came on her plumply face to face. Both were taken by surprise completely. Out of it neither could emerge instantly with casual words of greeting. Jessie felt her pulses throb. A queer consternation paralyzed the faculties that ought to have come alertly to her rescue. She stood, awkwardly silent, in a shy panic to her pulsing finger-tips. Later she would flog herself scornfully for her folly, but this did not help in the least now. "I--I was just going to Mr. Whaley's with a little dress Mother made for the baby," she said at last. "It's a nice baby," was the best he could do. "Yes. It's funny. You know Mr. Whaley didn't care anything about it before--while it was very little. But now he thinks it's wonderful. I'm so glad he does." She was beginning to get hold of herself, to emerge from the emotional crisis into which this meeting had plunged her. It had come to her consciousness that he was as perturbed as she, and a discovery of this nature always brings a woman composure. "He treats his wife a lot better too." "There was room for it," he said dryly. "She's a nice little thing." "Yes." Conversation, which had been momentarily brisk, threatened to die out for lack of fuel. Anything was better than significant silences in which she could almost hear the hammering of her heart. "Win Beresford told me about the offer you had to go into the Mounted," she said, plunging. "Yes?" "Will you accept?" He looked at her, surprised. "Didn't Win tell you? I said right away I couldn't accept. He knew that." "Oh! I don't believe he did tell me. Perhaps you hadn't decided then." Privately she was determining to settle some day with Winthrop Beresford for leading her into this. He had purposely kept silent, she knew now, in the hope that she would talk to Tom Morse about it. "But I'm glad you've decided against going in." "Why?" "It's dangerous, and I don't think it has much future." "Win likes it." "Yes, Win does. He'll get a commission one of these days." "He deserves one. I--I hope you'll both be very happy." He was walking beside her. Quickly her glance flashed up at him. Was that the reason he had held himself so aloof from her? "I think we shall, very likely, if you mean Win and I. He's always happy, isn't he? And I try to be. I'm sorry he's leaving this part of the country. Writing-on-Stone is a long way from here. He may never get back. I'll miss him a good deal. Of course you will too." This was plain enough, but Tom could not accept it at face value. Perhaps she meant that she would miss him until Win got ready to send for her. An idea lodged firmly in the mind cannot be ejected at an instant's notice. "Yes, I'll miss him. He's a splendid fellow. I've never met one like him, so staunch and cheerful and game. Sometime I'd like to tell you about that trip we took. You'd be proud of him."