Neither this day, nor the next, however, did he put in an appearance at the house, though Helen saw him twice on her rounds. He was busy, as usual, and greeted her as if nothing particular had happened. Roy called twice, once in the afternoon, and again during the evening. He grew more likable upon longer acquaintance. This last visit he rendered Bo speechless by teasing her about another girl Carmichael was going to take to a dance. Bo's face showed that her vanity could not believe this statement, but that her intelligence of young men credited it with being possible. Roy evidently was as penetrating as he was kind. He made a dry, casual little remark about the snow never melting on the mountains during the latter part of March; and the look with which he accompanied this remark brought a blush to Helen's cheek. After Roy had departed Bo said to Helen: “Confound that fellow! He sees right through me.” “My dear, you're rather transparent these days,” murmured Helen. “You needn't talk. He gave you a dig,” retorted Bo. “He just knows you're dying to see the snow melt.” “Gracious! I hope I'm not so bad as that. Of course I want the snow melted and spring to come, and flowers--” “Hal Ha! Ha!” taunted Bo. “Nell Rayner, do you see any green in my eyes? Spring to come! Yes, the poet said in the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. But that poet meant a young woman.” Helen gazed out of the window at the white stars. “Nell, have you seen him--since I was hurt?” continued Bo, with an effort. “Him? Who?” “Oh, whom do you suppose? I mean Tom!” she responded, and the last word came with a burst. “Tom? Who's he? Ah, you mean Las Vegas. Yes, I've seen him.” “Well, did he ask a-about me?” “I believe he did ask how you were--something like that.” “Humph! Nell, I don't always trust you.” After that she relapsed into silence, read awhile, and dreamed awhile, looking into the fire, and then she limped over to kiss Helen good night and left the room. Next day she was rather quiet, seeming upon the verge of one of the dispirited spells she got infrequently. Early in the evening, just after the lights had been lit and she had joined Helen in the sitting-room, a familiar step sounded on the loose boards of the porch. Helen went to the door to admit Carmichael. He was clean-shaven, dressed in his dark suit, which presented such marked contrast from his riding-garb, and he wore a flower in his buttonhole. Nevertheless, despite all this style, he seemed more than usually the cool, easy, careless cowboy. “Evenin', Miss Helen,” he said, as he stalked in. “Evenin', Miss Bo. How are you-all?” Helen returned his greeting with a welcoming smile. “Good evening--TOM,” said Bo, demurely.