“I--I--enjoyed meeting your sister last night,” he said as they found themselves seated facing each other. “She--she--” He did not know what to say. He wondered why the girl had come. Had some one sent her? She looked at him with her clear, calm eyes, cool and interested. She was unquestionably handsomer than her sister. A year or two younger he guessed, though much larger, a typical Californian in her downy bloom of skin and fullness of contour. Her simple dress had been designed with taste and set with a grace that was imparted more by the beautiful lines of the body it covered than any particular skill in its fashioning. There was the same neatness and care of detail in her humble adornments that he had noticed in her sister’s--the ineradicable daintiness of the woman whose forebears have lived delicately. “June had such a good time last night,” she said with an air of volubility. “At first she said it was dreadful. Hardly any one asked her to dance, and she didn’t see how she could wait for father, who was going to call for her at twelve. And then you came and introduced those gentlemen to her. After that she had the loveliest time. She didn’t want to go at all when father came. She made him wait till two!” “I’m glad she enjoyed it. It was pretty dull for her at first. She didn’t want to dance with the kind of men that were there. I was glad to introduce Rion Gracey to her. He’s more or less of a neighbor of yours, according to foot-hill distances.” The Colonel was fencing, watching the girl and wondering why she had come. She had the air of settling down to a leisurely, enjoyable gossip. “Yes. We never met him before. It’s funny, because they’ve been here over a year; up at the Buckeye Belle, of course. But then, they ride in here all the time. I’ve often seen both the Graceys riding past our place. The road in from there goes by our land. You know where that is?--the long strip back there--” waving her hand in the direction of the Colonel’s disputed acres--“where the tall pines are, and--” She stopped, crimsoning to her hair. She had evidently suddenly realized to whom she was so glibly talking. There was no question but that she was embarrassed now. She bent her burning face down and began to make little pleats in her dress with her sun-burnt fingers. “I know, I know,” said the Colonel, exceedingly embarrassed himself, “right back there. Yes, of course. On the road that goes to Thompson’s Flat. By the way, I hope your sister’s dress wasn’t seriously damaged last night. The dye coming off the flowers, I mean.” The girl heaved a breath of relief and tilted her head to one side regarding the pleats she had made from a different view point. For her age and environment her aplomb was remarkable. “Yes, I’m afraid it’s very badly marked. They were such cheap flowers. Mother thinks we can arrange something with rosettes.” She ceased her pleating, raised her head fully, and looked at him.