Van had entered unannounced. His active tread upon the carpet of the hall had made no sound. When he halted in the doorway, transfixed by the beauty of the face he saw reflected in the sideboard mirror opposite, Beth was unconscious of his presence. She was busily gathering up her documents. Her pretty hands were moving lightly on the table. Her eyes were downcast, focused where she worked. Only the wondrous addition of their matchless brown, thought Van, was necessary to complete a picture of the most exquisite loveliness he had ever beheld. He had come there prepared to be sedate--at least not over-bold again, or too presumptuous. Already, however, a riot of love was in his veins. He loved as he fought--with all his strength, with a tidal impetuosity that could scarcely understand resistance or imagine defeat. To restrain himself from a quick descent upon her position and a boyish sweeping of her up in his powerful arms was taxing the utmost of his self-control. Then Beth glanced up at the mirror. The light of her eyes seemed to liquify his heart. He felt that mad, joyous organ spread abruptly, throughout his entire being. She rose up suddenly and turned to greet him. "Why--Mr. Van!" she stammered, flushing rosily. "I _heard_ you were in town." He came towards her quietly enough, the jeweler's box in his hand. "I called before," he answered in his off-hand way. "You must have been out with poor old Searle." "Oh," she said, "poor old Searle? Why poor?" "I told you why before," he said boldly, in spite of himself. He was standing before her by the table, looking fairly into her eyes, with that dancing boyishness amazingly bright in his own. "You remember, too--you can't forget." The flush in her cheeks increased. Her glance was lowered. "You didn't give me time to--rebuke you for that," she answered, attempting to assume a tone of severity. "You had no right--it wasn't nice or like you in the least." "Yes it was, nice, and like me," he corrected. "I've brought you a nugget from the claim." He opened the box and shook out the pin on the table. She had started to make a reply concerning his actions when leaving on that former occasion. The words were pushed aside. "Oh, my!" she said in a little exclamation, instead. "A nugget!--gold!--not from the--not from your claim?" His hand slightly trembled. "From the 'Laughing Water' claim. Named for the girl I'm going to marry." She gasped, almost audibly. The things he said were so wholly unexpected--so almost naked in their bluntness. "The girl--some girl you--Isn't it beautiful?" she faltered helplessly. "Of course I don't know--how any girl could have such a singular name." "Yes you do," he corrected in his shockingly candid way. "You know when Dave gave her the name." "Do I?" she asked weakly, trying to smile, and feeling some wonderful, welcome sort of fear of the passion with which he fairly glowed. "You are--very positive."