"Yes, I know," she said quietly. Then, with a queer little note of confidence, "Don't apologize for it, Dave." "Apologize?" and his form straightened. "Certainly not. . . One doesn't apologize for nature, does he? . . . But it comes back in September." He smiled, and she thought the subconscious in him was calling up the smell of fire in dry grass, or perhaps even the rumble of buffalo over the hills. And he knew he smiled because he had so completely misled her. Presently she took out a pocket volume. "Will you read?" she said. Strangely enough he opened it at the lines: "Oh, you will never hide your soul from me; I've seen the jewels flash, and know 'tis there Muffle it as you will." . . . It was dusk when they started homeward. Forsyth was waiting for her. Dave scented stormy weather and excused himself early. "What does this mean?" demanded Forsyth, angrily, as soon as Dave had gone. "Do you think I'll take second place to that--that coal heaver?" She straightened, and her bright eyes were charged with a blaze which would have astonished Dave, who had known her only in her milder moods. But she tried to speak without passion. "That is not to his discredit," she said. "Straight from the corrals into good society," Forsyth sneered. Then she made no pretense of composure. "If you have nothing more to urge against Mr. Elden, perhaps you will go." Forsyth took his hat. At the door he paused and turned, but she was already ostensibly interested in a magazine. He went out into the night. The week was a busy one with Dave, and he had no opportunity to visit the Duncans. Friday Edith called him on the telephone. She asked an inconsequential question about something which had appeared in the paper, and from that the talk drifted on until it turned on the point of their expedition of the previous Sunday. Dave never could account quite clearly how it happened, but when he hung up the receiver he knew he had asked her to ride with him again on Sunday, and she had accepted. He had ridden with her before, of course, but he had never _asked_ her before. He had been a sort of honoured employee, whose business it was to comply with her wishes. But this time she would ride at his request. He felt that a subtle change had come over their relationship. He was at the Duncan house earlier than usual Sunday afternoon, but not too early for Edith. She was dressed for the occasion; she seemed more fetching than he had ever seen her. There was the blush of health--or was it altogether the blush of health?--on her cheeks, and a light in her eyes such as he had seen more than once on those last rides with Reenie Hardy. And across her saddle she threw a brown sweater.