"Would I?" She rose and stood beside his chair. "You don't know much about me, yet, do you? If the 'wicky-up' is good enough for you, it is good enough for me. I am going with you, and I'm going to make that dear little log cabin a place that you will always be glad to remember,--if I can." He drew her down on the arm of the chair. "Don't talk to me that way, Myra,--you mustn't, you know. I'm not used to it, and it breaks me all up. If you say another word I shall want to make it seven o'clock in the morning instead of nine." "Can you wait a month?" "No." "Three weeks?" "No." She gave up in despair. "You are dreadfully unreasonable." "I know it; I was born that way and I can't help it. I sha'n't insist on to-morrow, because I'm not sure that Wun Ling has anything for us to eat; but one week from to-morrow, when I've had time to stock up and straighten up a bit, is going to be the limit. Can you make it?" "What if I say no?" "I shall come anyway." She bent over until her lips touched his forehead. "That is your answer, only you don't deserve it. And now will you answer my question? I asked you when you came in if you had been to dinner, and you said 'Good Lord!'" "Did I? I think I must have been a bit rattled. You see, I'd just heard some bad news, and I was expecting to find Connie, and wasn't expecting to find you." "Did Connie write you she would meet you?" He had one hand free to fish out the day-old telegram and give it to her. She read it with a swift blush crimsoning cheek and neck. "The unscrupulous little tyke!" she said; and then, with self-defensive tact: "But you said you had bad news." "Yes. A mine that our good old Uncle Steve is pretty deeply into has gone dry." "Failed, you mean?" "Yes, that's it. I wish you'd teach me how to talk English,--good clean English, like yours. Connie has tried it, but pshaw! she's worse than I am. But about the Lodestar: I don't know how deep the old man is in; he's such an innocent old infant about putting up money that I'm awfully afraid they have salted him. You must pump Connie and find out. I'll be in Leadville to-morrow night, and if there is anything to be done on the ground I'll do it. The old man has been a second father to me." Myra promised, and went back once more to the unanswered dinner query. "Now you remind me of it, I believe I haven't been to dinner," he admitted. "But that's nothing; a meal or two more or less isn't to be mentioned at such a time as this." "I am going to get you something." "No, don't; I'm too happy to eat." But she insisted, and when she came back with a dainty luncheon on a tea-tray he did ample justice to it, if for no better reason than that she sat on the other side of the small reading-table and made tea for him. Afterward, when the time drew near for the Elliotts' return, he took his leave, though it was yet early.