Gregory read this note hastily when he found it in his morning mail-bag in company with many business letters, to which he also gave scant attention: he was in haste to go underground. There was still no sign of the lost vein, and nineteen days of the three weeks’ limit he had set himself were gone. But they broke into it that same afternoon. He barely left the mine until the following morning, but he finally sought his cabin and bed satisfied that the recovered vein of copper pyrite was, like the original, six feet thick and as rich in values. When he awoke he remembered Ida’s note, and although it had provoked a frown of annoyance when he read it, his spirits were now so ebullient that he not only admitted the justice of her demand, but would have granted almost anyone a reasonable request. Moreover, as he reread the note, its restraint and dignity struck him forcibly, as well as its remote likeness to the Ida Hook he had wooed in Nine Mile Cañon. Certainly she had made the most of her opportunities! And apparently she had recovered from her first disappointment, or pique--if, indeed, she had felt either--and he assumed that the last year, crowded with exceptional experiences, had made her over into something like a woman of the world. No doubt among her many accomplishments she had acquired self-control. (That she might also have acquired finesse did not occur to him.) He dismissed the fear that she would make a scene--and himself thoroughly uncomfortable. On the whole it would be interesting to see Ida as a bird of paradise. He remembered her in shirtwaists and serviceable skirts, and recalled that he had sometimes thought it a pity she should not have the plumage worthy of her beauty and style. And if the fates had willed that he must meet Ora Blake again he preferred that the first interview should be in public. He rang up Pony and in the course of half an hour was connected with Butte. “Hello!” he said cordially, as he heard his wife’s voice. “Got your letter, but couldn’t find time to answer before. I’ll come to the dinner with pleasure.” “Oh, I am so glad.” Ida’s tones were crisp and cool. There was none of the husky warmth that Gregory suddenly remembered; nor any of the old common inflection. “Are your evening togs at Mark’s?” “Yes, will you send for them?” “I’ll have everything here in one of the spare rooms. The maid will show you up if you are late. It takes me hours to dress.” “All right. Say--Ida--I wish you’d persuade Mrs. Blake to give up that idea of coming out here. It won’t work. She’ll only be in the way of the men, and if there was a big row on would be one more responsibility for her manager. I suppose she knows I’ve opened up her mine. Besides, it’s no place for a woman anyhow. There are only a few women--miners’ wives--in my camp; none in the others.”