Ida’s eyes fell on the telephone beside her bed and lingered. She forgot her beautiful room and the successive throbs of gratified ambition, in an overwhelming desire to call up Gregory and tell him what she thought of him. But she was a woman in whom calculation was stronger than impulse, and in the past year she had learned to control her temper, not only because a carefully nourished refinement had crowded out some of the weeds of her nature, but because her ever-growing intelligence despised lack of self-control in all things. So she merely undressed herself, her eyes wandering every few minutes to the telephone. It was incredible that he did not ring her up. That, at least, would take but a few moments of his precious time. However, she fell asleep immediately after her bath, and it was the telephone bell that awakened her at eight o’clock. This time she frowned at it, for she wanted to sleep; but she sat up, put the receiver to her ear and asked languidly: “Well?” A strange man’s voice replied: “Is this Mrs. Compton?” “Yes. Why am I disturbed so early?” “I’m sorry--this is Mr. Compton’s secretary speaking--but Mr. Compton told me to call you at eight o’clock. He always comes in for breakfast at this time--here he is.” “Hello! How are you? What time did you get in?” Gregory’s voice was elaborately polite and as eager as any lover’s of yesteryear. “Are you interested?” Ida’s heart beat thickly, but her tones were crisp. “I arrived at midnight. Really, I expected you to meet me. That is generally considered the decent thing to do.” “Oh! I’m sorry it was impossible. I can’t leave the mine at present. How did you like the house?” “I am enchanted with it--and with the limousine. When are you coming in?” “I can’t say at present. I dare not leave for a moment. You will find a deposit to your credit at the Daly bank.” “Thanks. Would--shall I run out?” “Better not. There is always danger of rows.” “But of course I’m wild to see the mine. You forget how famous it is.” “Better wait awhile. It really isn’t safe.” “Very well. How’s your wound? Where were you hurt, anyhow?” “Not worth mentioning, as I cabled you, and I suppose you got my telegram in New York saying I was all right again. Sure you got everything you want?” “I am overwhelmed by all this luxury, and your generosity.” “Glad you like it. Has Mrs. Blake gone to California?” “She went directly from the steamer. How is Mark getting on. I’ve had only notes from Ora.” “All right. He doesn’t write but has telegraphed once or twice. He’d better stay below several months. Write Mrs. Blake to persuade him to take things easy. He had a close call. I can get along without him for awhile, but I can’t afford to lose him. Will you see to this?” “I’ll write Ora today. She’s in no hurry to return to Butte--was delighted at the prospect of going to California, and intends to take Mark to Santa Barbara, where she knows a lot of people.”