“Say, I’ve heard about you! You git!” she cried; and when she was certain that he was gone she came back and took a seat at the table where she continued, in the same reminiscent vein as before: “I can see mother now fussin’ over father an’ pettin’ ’im, an’ father dealin’ faro--Ah, he was square! An’ me a kid, as little as a kitten, under the table sneakin’ chips for candy. Talk ’bout married life--that was a little heaven! Why, mother tho’t so much o’ that man, she was so much heart an’ soul with ’im that she learned to be the best case-keeper you ever saw. Many a sleeper she caught! You see, when she played, she was playin’ for the ol’ man.” She stopped as if overcome with emotion, and then added with great feeling: “I guess everybody’s got some remembrance o’ their mother tucked away. I always see mine at the faro table with her foot snuggled up to Dad’s, an’ the light o’ lovin’ in her eyes. Ah, she was a lady...!” Impulsively she rose and walked over to the bar. “No,” she went on, when behind it once more, “I couldn’t share that table an’ The Polka with any man--unless there was a heap o’ carin’ back of it. No, I couldn’t, Jack, I couldn’t....” By this time the Sheriff’s anger had completely vanished; dejection was plainly written on every line of his face. “Well, I guess the boys were right; I am a Chinaman,” he drawled out. At once the Girl was all sympathy. “Oh, no you’re not, Jack!” she protested, speaking as tenderly as she dared without encouraging him. Rance was quick to detect the change in her voice. Now he leaned over the end of the bar and said in tones that still held hope: “Once when I rode in here it was nothing but Jack, Jack, Jack Rance. By the Eternal, I nearly got you then!” “Did you?” The Girl was her saucy self again. Rance ignored her manner, and went on: “Then you went on that trip to Sacramento and Monterey and you were different.” In spite of herself the Girl started, which Rance’s quick eye did not fail to note. “Who’s the man?” he blazed. For answer the Girl burst out into a peal of laughter. It was forced, and the man knew it. “I suppose he’s one o’ them high-toned, Sacramento shrimps!” he burst out gruffly; then he added meaningly: “Do you think he’d have you?” At those words a wondering look shone in the Girl’s eyes, and she asked in all seriousness: “What’s the matter with me? Is there anythin’ ’bout me a high-toned gent would object to?” And then as the full force of the insult was borne in upon her she stepped out from behind the bar, and demanded: “Look here, Jack Rance, ain’t I always been a perfect lady?” Rance laughed discordantly. “Oh, heaven knows your character’s all right!” And so saying he seated himself again at the table. The girl flared up still more at this; she retorted: