But Jessie made no answer. She was thinking hard, and somehow her thoughts had an uneasy confusion in them. She was trying hard to find the best way to begin that which she had to say, but every opening seemed inadequate. She must not appeal, she must not dictate. She must adopt some middle course. These things she felt instinctively. The man shifted his position and glanced round the room. "Kind of snug here," he said pleasantly, running his eyes appreciatively over the simple decorations, the cheap bric-a-brac which lined the walls and, in a world where all decoration was chiefly conspicuous by its absence, gave to the place a suggestion of richness. The red pine walls looked warm, and the carpeted floor was so unusual as to give one a feeling of extraordinary refinement. Then, too, the chairs, scattered about, spoke of a strain after civilized luxury. The whole ranch-house had been turned inside out to make Jessie's quarters all she could desire them. "Yes," he muttered, "it's sure snug." Then his eyes came back to the woman. "Maybe there's something I've forgotten. Guess you've just got to fix a name to it." Jessie turned instantly. Her beautiful eyes were shining with a sudden hope, but her face was pale with a hardly controlled emotion. "That's easy," she said. "I want my children. I want little Vada. I--I must have her. You promised I should. If you hadn't, I should never have left. I must have her." She spoke breathlessly, and broke off with a sort of nervous jolt. In the pause that followed James' expression underwent a subtle change. It was not that there was any definite movement of a single muscle. His smile remained, but, somehow, through it peeped a hard look which had not been there before. "So you want--the kids," he said at last, and a curious metallic quality was in his voice. "Say," he added thoughtfully, "you women are queer ones." "Maybe we are," retorted Jessie. She tried to laugh as she spoke, but it was a dismal failure. Then she hurried on. "Yes," she cried a little shrilly, "it was part of our bargain, and--so far you have not carried it out." "Bargain?" The man's brows went up. "Yes, bargain." "I don't remember a--bargain." James' eyes had in them an ominous glitter. "Then you've got a bad memory." "I sure haven't, Jess. I sure haven't that. I generally remember good. And what I remember now is that I promised you those kids if you needed them. I swore that you should have 'em. But I made no bargain. Guess women don't see things dead right. This is the first time you've spoken to me of this, and you say I haven't fulfilled my bargain. When I refuse to give you them kiddies, it's time to take that tone. You want them kids. Well--go on." The change in her lover's manner warned Jessie that danger lay ahead. In the brief time she had spent under his roof she had already learned that, as yet, she had only seen the gentlest side of the man, and that the other side was always perilously near the surface.