"Rubbish!" retorted Buck. "You know it wasn't that." Bending swiftly, he put an arm about her shoulders and kissed her. "You brought it on yourself," he told her, grinning, as he straightened up. "You've no business to look so--pretty." The pink in Mrs. Archer's cheeks deepened faintly. "Aren't you rather lavish this morning?" she murmured teasingly. "Hadn't you better save those for--" Suddenly her face grew serious. "I do understand, of course. She hasn't come out yet, but she's dressing. I made her eat her breakfast in bed." "Good business," approved Buck. "How is she?" "Very much better, physically. Her nerves are practically all right again; but of course she's very much depressed." Stratton's face clouded. "She still persists--" Mrs. Archer nodded. "Oh, dear me, yes! That is, she thinks she does. But there's no need to look as if all hope were lost. Indeed, I'm quite certain that a little pressure at the right moment--" She broke off, glancing at the bedroom door. "I've an idea it would be better for me to do a little missionary work first. Suppose you go now and come back later. Come back," she finished briskly, "when you see my handkerchief lying here on the window-ledge." He nodded and was half way across the room when she called to him guardedly: "Oh, Buck! There's a phrase I noticed in that rather lurid magazine Bud brought me two or three weeks ago." Her eyes twinkled. "'Cave-man stuff,' I think it was." Coming from her lips the words had an oddly bizarre sound. "It seemed descriptive. Of course one would want to use refinements." "I get you!" Stratton grinned as he departed. His head had scarcely passed the window before the inner door opened and Mary Thorne appeared. Her face was pale, with deep shadows under the eyes, and her slim, girlish figure drooped listlessly. She walked slowly over to the table, took up a book, fluttered the pages, and laid it down again. Then a pile of mail caught her eyes, and picking up the topmost letter, she tore it open and glanced through it indifferently. "From Stella," she commented aloud, dropping it on the table. "They got home all right. She says she had a wonderful time, and asks after--" "After me, I suppose," said Mrs. Archer, as Mary paused. "Give her my love when you write." She hesitated, glancing shrewdly at the girl. "Don't you want to hear the news, dear?" she asked. Mary turned abruptly, her eyes widening with sudden interest. "News? What news?" "Why, about everything that's happened. They caught all of the men except that wretch, Pedro. The sheriff's taken them to Perilla for trial. He says they'll surely be convicted. Better yet, one of them has turned State's evidence and implicated a swindler named Draper, who was at the bottom of everything." "Everything?" repeated the girl in a slightly puzzled tone, as she dropped listlessly into a chair beside her aunt. "What do you mean, dear, by--everything?"