Until this moment Mrs. Murray had talked about nothing in the world that mattered. But now, her eyes watchful, her manner that of one who has waited long enough and is impatient, she said quickly: 'You are still looking for your gold mine?' 'Yes,' said Longstreet. 'Oh, yes.' But on the instant in his eye was that look of a man with the ace buried. Perhaps Mrs. Murray had played poker; clearly she knew something of poker faces. 'You have found it!' she cried softly. 'Oh, I am so glad!' He looked at her wonderingly. 'What makes you say that?' he stammered. 'That I am glad? Why shouldn't I be? Why shouldn't every one be glad? When one's friend--oh, but we are friends, dear Mr. Longstreet! There is the one glorious thing to be said about this country, about all of the West back from the railroads, that two persons don't have to know each other a year to become real, true friends. For your sake and for the sake of your wonderful daughter, am I not to be genuinely glad?' He had to wait to the end of the rushing words to correct her: 'I meant, what made you say that I had found it?' She opened her big eyes at him like a baby. 'But you have, haven't you? You came to find gold; you brought to bear upon the situation your scientific knowledge instead of a prospector's poor brain; and you have found gold, I am sure!' She smiled upon him brightly as she concluded with a semblance of trustfulness and artlessness: 'Tell me the truth; haven't you found it?' Suddenly he found himself hard beset. She had gauged him pretty accurately and therefore had asked him the question pointedly. He must either say yes or no; true, he might be rude to her and refuse an answer, but that would be equivalent to an admission. If he said 'No,' he would be lying. There was no other word for it. 'Well?' persisted Sanchia. She still smiled, she was still extremely kind and friendly, but it was plain that she would have her answer. Still he hesitated. What were his reasons for secrecy, after all? Just to spring a surprise for Helen on her birthday. He had already told Alan. A secret is a rather dull and stupid affair unless it is shared. Mrs. Murray was all that was sympathetic; she would rejoice with him. 'I had not planned to say anything about it yet,' he began hesitatingly. 'Oh!' she cried joyously. 'It's wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! I am so glad! Tell me about it. All about it, every word.' Longstreet's smile answered her own. And, of course, he told. 'Only,' he warned her, 'I am keeping it a secret for a little. Helen doesn't know. Next week is her birthday. I am going to give it to her then.'