"God, but you're cold-blooded!" He groped for the chair and sat down. "You pay me a compliment," she answered, mockingly. "I take it you consent?" He muttered sullenly: "There's nothin' else. Yes." CHAPTER XXIX TOOMEY DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF It had not been possible for Prentiss to go with Kate to Prouty but he had promised to come as soon as he could arrange his affairs. This had required something like two weeks, and in the interim the excitement attendant upon Kate's return had simmered down. She had not been in Prouty since, but Prentiss, having notified her of the day of his arrival, was now awaiting her appearance with an impatience that evidenced itself in the frequency with which he looked at his watch. As Prentiss stood at the window of the Prouty House looking down Main Street, his face wore a smile that was at once amused and kindly. So this was Kate's environment, or a part of it--where she had grown to womanhood. The very pavements seemed invested with a kind of sacredness because they had known the imprint of her feet. It was little short of idolatry--this man's love for his daughter--representing as it did all the pent-up affection of his life, and as he had poured that out prodigally so he had lavished his wealth upon her, laughing in keen enjoyment at her dismayed protests. "Why, girl, you don't understand at all! What is money for, if not to spend on some one you love?" The weeks they had spent together had been a wonderful experience for himself as well as for Kate. There were times when he still could not quite realize that this astonishing young woman was his own flesh and blood. With the experience and intelligent comprehension of a man, she yet was one of the most innately feminine women he had ever known--in her tastes, her small vanities, her quick and comprehensive sympathies; while her appreciation of all that was fine and good, whether in human conduct, the arts, or dress, was a constant marvel. Her childish enjoyment of the most ordinary pleasures was a constant delight and he found his greatest happiness in planning some new entertainment, receiving his reward in watching her expression. But there was one thing about Kate that puzzled Prentiss, and troubled him a bit: he had observed that while she talked freely of her mother and the Sand Coulee Roadhouse, of Mullendore and the crisis which had sent her to Mormon Joe, of the tragedy of his death, of her subsequent life on the ranch, of her ups-and-downs with the sheep, of anything that she thought would be of interest to him, of her inner self she had nothing to say--of friends, of love affairs--and he could not believe but that that a woman of her unmistakable charm must have had a few. Furthermore, he found that any attempt to draw her out met a reserve that was like a stone wall--just so far he got into her life and not a step beyond.