But she had not been too frightened to note Lawler's sympathy--the quick glow in his eyes, and the atmosphere of tenderness that suddenly seemed to envelop him. It was surrender, she thought, the breaking down of that quiet, steady reserve in him which had filled her with resentment. She caught his free hand and held it tightly, while she turned her head so that she could look into his eyes. "Lawler," she said then, in a low voice; "I lied to you." "Lied?" He stiffened, dropped his hand from her head and looked straight at her. She laughed, lightly. "Yes; I lied, Lawler. The day we met in Willets--you remember? Well, I loved you from that moment, Lawler. You looked so big and fine and strong. I just couldn't help it. I did overhear Gary Warden telling those two men to cut the fence; and I didn't want them to set all those cattle adrift. But I didn't intend to come here. I started out to find your ranch--the Circle L. I thought I would find you there, and I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to the Two Diamond right away--that you would have to keep me at your house until the storm was over. But I got lost, and when I saw the light in the window, here, I knew I had better go toward it. But I came because I wanted to be near you, Lawler. And now--" She laughed and tried to draw him toward her. "Of course you are not in earnest, Miss Wharton," he said, slowly, his voice grave. "Such a confession----" "It's the truth," she declared, shamelessly, holding tightly to him. "It is simple, isn't it? I love you--and I came to you. I came, because I had to--I wanted to. I had been thinking of you--dreaming of you. You were in my mind all the time. "And you have been acting dreadfully distant. I had begun to believe that you didn't like me--that you wished I hadn't come----" "That would be the truth, Miss Wharton," he interrupted. He grimly walked to the fireplace, standing with his back to it, looking at her. He was wondering how he could tell her that she had disgraced her sex; how he could, without being brutal, tell her how he abhorred women who pursued men. Despite the impulse of charity that moved him, he could not veil the grim disgust that had seized him. It showed in the curve of his lips and in his eyes. And Miss Wharton saw it. She had been watching him narrowly when he walked away from her; she was looking at him now, in resentful inquiry, her lips tight-pressed. She was puzzled, incredulous. Then, with their glances locked, she laughed, jeeringly. "I really don't know how to classify you!" she said, scornfully. "Am I ugly?" He smiled grimly. "Far from it," he answered, frankly. "I think," he added, his gaze still holding hers, "that mere physical beauty doesn't intrigue my interest. There must be something back of it." "Character, I suppose," she mocked; "nobility, virtue?" "I think you have said it," he smiled. "At least I haven't the slightest desire to like you."