"I beg your pardon," said Dave. "I have to confess I allowed my wits to go rambling, and they stumbled upon a--upon a very amusing absurdity." Elden's mind was engaged with Mrs. Hardy and Conward, and, unintentionally, he allowed his eyes to embrace them both in his remark. One more astute than Mrs. Hardy might have had a glimmer of the absurdity which had provoked Dave's untimely mirth, but she was a woman who took herself with much seriousness. If Conward guessed anything he concealed his intuition behind a mask of polite attention. Mrs. Hardy addressed a severe gaze at Elden. "You should keep your wits better in hand, young man. When you find them rambling it might be well to--ah--_lasso_ them. Ha, ha, Mr. Conward. That's the word, is it not? _Lasso_ them." This unexpected witticism on Mrs. Hardy's part had the fortunate effect of restoring that lady's good humour, and Elden found an easy way out of the situation by joining in the general laughter. "I fear a thought would be a somewhat elusive thing to get a rope on," he ventured. "But if it could be done, Dave would do it," Irene interjected. "You remember----" "Dave?" said Mrs. Hardy, sharply. "You mean Mr. Elden." The colour rose in the young woman's cheeks, but she stood by her guns. "He was Dave in those days," she said. "It would be impossible to think of a _mister_ galloping about over the foothills, swinging his lariat, or smashing bottles with his six-shooter. Mister fits in with the conventions; with tailors and perfume and evening dress, but it doesn't seem to have any place in the foothills." "You're right," Conward agreed. "Mister has no place on horseback. If you were to go out on the ranges and begin mistering the cow-punchers, like as not they'd lead you into camp at a rope-end. No man really makes much of a hit in this country until everybody calls him by his first name." "Well, Mr. Elden seems to have made a hit, as you call it, with some of his acquaintances," said Mrs. Hardy, with a touch of acidity. "I think, Irene, you would do well to remember that we are not out on the ranges, and that Mr. Elden no longer pursues his living with a lariat." "It may be a point of view I have acquired in the West," Irene persisted. "But I think it a greater courtesy to address a man by his Christian name than by any artificial title. It is something like admitting a guest into the kitchen--a privilege not extended to the casual visitor. It seems like taking him into the family----" "Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Hardy. "Have we come to that?" Irene's cheeks and eyes grew brighter still. "Oh, I didn't mean that," she protested. "I was--I was employing a figure of speech."