She looked furtively at Duncan, stretched out beside her on the grass. What would he say if he knew? He would not be pleased, she was certain, for during the month that she had been at the Double R--riding out almost daily with him--he had forced her to see that he had taken a liking to her--more, she herself had observed the telltale signs of something deeper than mere liking. She had not encouraged this, of course, for she was not certain that she liked Duncan, though he had treated her well--almost too well, in fact, for she had at times felt a certain reluctance in accepting his little attentions--such personal service as kept him almost constantly at her side. His manner, too, was ingratiating; he smiled too much to suit her; his presumption of proprietorship over her irritated her not a little. As she sat beside him on the grass she found herself studying him, as she had done many times when he had not been conscious of her gaze. He was thirty-two,--he had told her so himself in a burst of confidence--though she believed him to be much older. The sprinkling of gray hair at his temples had caused her to place his age at thirty-seven or eight. Besides, there were the lines of his face--the set lines of character--indicating established habits of thought which would not show so deeply in a younger face. His mouth, she thought, was a trifle weak, yet not exactly weak either, but full-lipped and sensual, with little curves at the corners which, she was sure, indicated either vindictiveness or cruelty, perhaps both. Taken altogether his was not a face to trust fully; its owner might be too easily guided by selfish considerations. Duncan liked to talk about himself; he had been talking about himself all the time that Sheila had sat beside him reviewing the mental picture. But apparently he had about exhausted that subject now, and presently he looked up at her, his eyes narrowing quizzically. "You have been here a month now," he said. "How do you like the country?" "I like it," she returned. She was looking now at the other picture, watching the shimmer of the sun on the distant mountain peaks. "It improves," he said, "on acquaintance--like the people." He flashed a smile at her, showing his teeth. "I haven't seen very many people," she returned, not looking at him, but determined to ignore the personal allusion, to which, plainly, he had meant to guide her. "But those that you have seen?" he persisted. "I have formed no opinions."