Smith saw what she meant; saw, also, whereunto his wretched fate was dragging him. It was the newest of all the reincarnations, the one which had begun with Jibbey's silent hand-clasp the night before, which prompted him to say: "If they should ask you about me, you must tell them the truth, Verda." Her smile was mildly scornful. "Is that what the plain-faced little ranch person would do?" she asked. "I don't know; yes, I guess it is." "Doesn't she care any more for you than that?" Smith did not reply. He was standing where he could watch the comings and goings of the elevators. Time was precious and he was chafing at the delay, but Miss Richlander was not yet ready to let him go. "Tell me honestly, Montague," she said; "is it anything more than a case of propinquity with this Baldwin girl?--on your part, I mean." "It isn't anything," he returned soberly. "Corona Baldwin will never marry any man who has so much to explain as I have." "You didn't know this was her home, when you came out here?" "No." "But you had met her somewhere, before you came?" "Once; yes. It was in Guthrieville, over a year ago. I had driven over to call on some people that I knew, and I met her there at a house where she was visiting." "Does she remember that she had met you?" "No, not yet." He was certain enough of this to answer without reservations. "But you remembered her?" "Not at first." "I see," she nodded, and then, without warning: "What was the matter with you last night--about dinner-time?" "Why should you think there was anything the matter with me?" "I was out driving with the Stantons. When I came back to the hotel I found Colonel Baldwin and another man--a lawyer, I think he was--waiting for me. They said you were needing a friend who could go and talk to you and--'calm you down,' was the phrase the lawyer used. I was good-natured enough to go with them, but when we reached your offices you had gone, and the ranch girl was there alone, waiting for her father." "That was nonsense!" he commented; "their going after you as if I were a maniac or a drunken man, I mean." This time Miss Richlander's smile was distinctly resentful. "I suppose the colonel's daughter answered the purpose better," she said. "There was an awkward little _contretemps_, and Miss Baldwin refused, rather rudely, I thought, to tell her father where you had gone." Smith broke away from the unwelcome subject abruptly, saying: "There is something else you ought to know. Jibbey is here, at last." "Here in the hotel?" "Yes." "Does he know you are here?" "He does." "Why didn't you tell me before? That will complicate things dreadfully. Tucker will talk and tell all he knows; he can't help it." "This is one time when he will not talk. Perhaps he will tell you why when you see him." Miss Richlander glanced at the face of the small watch pinned on her shoulder.