"I believe I am not very fit," said the girl, "and if father will permit--" "Of course, of course," said Stephen Maitland. "You are your own mistress anyway, and having no mother"--Enid's mother had died in her infancy--"I suppose that I could not interfere or object if I wished to, but no marrying or giving in marriage: Remember that." "Nonsense, father," answered the young woman lightly. "I am not anxious to assume the bonds of wedlock." "Well, that settles it," said Robert Maitland. "We'll give you a royal good time. I must run up to New York and Boston for a few days, but I shall be back in a week and I can pick you up then." "What is the house in Denver, is it er--may I ask, provided with all modern conveniences and--" began the elder Maitland nervously. Robert Maitland laughed. "What do you take us for, Steve? Do you ever read the western newspapers?" "I confess that I have not given much thought to the west since I studied geography and--_The Philadelphia Ledger_ has been thought sufficient for the family since--" "Gracious!" exclaimed Maitland. "The house cost half a million dollars if you must know it, and if there is anything that modern science can contribute to comfort and luxury that isn't in it, I don't know what it is. Shall it be the house in Denver, or the ranch, or a real camp in the wilds, Enid?" "First the house in Denver," said Enid, "and then the ranch and then the mountains." "Right O! That shall be the program." "Will my daughter's life be perfectly safe from the Cowboys, Indians and Desperadoes?" "Quite safe," answered Robert, with deep gravity. "The cowboys no longer shoot up the city and it has been years since the Indians have held up even a trolley car. The only real desperado in my acquaintance is the mildest, gentlest old stage driver in the west." "Do you keep up an acquaintance with men of that class, still?" asked his brother in great surprise. "You know I was Sheriff in a border county for a number of years and--" "But you must surely have withdrawn from all such society now." "Out west," said Robert Maitland, "when we know a man and like him, when we have slept by him on the plains, ridden with him through the mountains, fought with him against some border terror, some bad man thirsting to kill, we don't forget him, we don't cut his acquaintance, and it doesn't make any difference whether the one or the other of us is rich or poor. I have friends who can't frame a grammatical sentence, who habitually eat with their knives, yet who are absolutely devoted to me and I to them. The man is the thing out there." He smiled and turned to Enid. "Always excepting the supremacy of woman," he added. "How fascinating!" exclaimed the girl. "I want to go there right away."