"I don't guess there's a thing easier." His eyes were shining as he took in the girl's dark beauty. "Seems to me I'm beginning to wonder about the things that matter myself. It's been a bully week. The sort of week some folks would write about in their secret diary. Guess I don't keep a secret diary--except somewhere right in here." He tapped his breast. "I don't seem to feel I've ever had such a time, or ever will again, unless----" "Unless?" Elvine was caught in the mood of the moment. This man was exercising a fascination over her which had nothing to do with the calculations she had laid down for the guidance of her sex. "Why, unless I add another week to it." "D'you think you could duplicate it then?" "That just depends on--you." Elvine rose from her chair and moved toward the window. Jeff, too, left his chair. He stood tall and straight--waiting. Her back was turned to him. "It is not for me to say," she replied without turning. "Why not?" "Your work--in the world." "Can wait. There's always--Bud Tristram." Suddenly Elvine turned about. Her eyes were smiling, and full of a light which had not lived in them for several years. There was not a shadow of calculation in them now. She held out her hand in token of dismissal. "We had some fine rides--together," she said. "My horses are still here." "And--the dances. They were--very pleasant." "Maybe they can be danced--again." "Good-bye," she said, her beautiful hand lingering in his for a moment. "For the present," Jeff added with decision. Then he mechanically glanced at his timepiece. His "farewell" call had lasted over two hours. But even so it had been all too short for him. CHAPTER XII THE TEMPERING Bud was packing in his rooms at Aston's Hotel. It was late at night. Late as it was, however, he had only left Nan, engaged at a similar occupation, less than half an hour ago. He had sat talking to her, and watching her with eyes of deep concern while, with infinite care, she bestowed those beautiful gowns which mean so much in a woman's life. His visit to her had not been one of mere companionship. It had been inspired by a sympathy he had no other means of displaying. He had talked to her; by every means in his power he had endeavored to interest her in reminiscence of the week's doings. She listened patiently, almost submissively, for she understood the promptings of his endeavor. But she was too deeply plunged in her own discouragement to display real interest, and it had required every ounce of courage she possessed to prevent herself falling to weeping. Nor was Bud at fault for a moment. He recognized the trouble lurking in the sweet brown eyes. And with all his might he pretended not to see. So, when his last effort to cheer had proved unavailing, he took his departure under the excuse of his own packing.