To Radlett, looking at them both, came a sudden suspicion, and a sudden despair. Jean, at Loring’s request, seated herself at his desk, in the big revolving chair, and while playing absent-mindedly with the papers on the desk, kept up a laughing discussion with Baird. Loring, at the other side of the room, was answering Mr. Cameron’s businesslike questions as to the grade of the ore, the force, the cost of production, accurately and fast, as though almost every faculty in his body and mind were not concentrated upon the girl who seemed to be having such an interesting talk with Radlett. Finishing his talk with Mr. Cameron, Loring left the office to arrange for sleeping quarters for the visitors. In a few minutes he returned with the announcement that all was ready, and led the way to the long, low building next the mess, whose many rooms, opening on a broad porch, served as accommodations for strangers in camp. Loring walked beside Miss Cameron, doing his best to talk unconcernedly of every-day matters, but the hoarseness of his voice betrayed him. “I am very sorry to have to offer you such rough quarters,” he said to Jean, as they reached the house, “but they are the best that we have. In another month we hope to have something more comfortable to give to our guests.” “In another month, Stephen, you will have an up-to-date city constructed here,” exclaimed Radlett, with an almost reluctant enthusiasm. At the steps Stephen and Radlett said good-night to the others, and walked slowly back to Stephen’s quarters, which they were to share. Loring sat on the edge of his cot, and smoked slowly while he watched Baird unpack his valise, and with the method of an orderly nature put everything away in the rough chest of drawers, or on the black iron hooks which protruded from the wall. Espying a tin of expensive tobacco neatly packed amidst a circle of collars, Stephen pounced upon it, and knocking out the contents of his pipe, proceeded to fill it with the new mixture. Radlett finished his unpacking, and recovering the tobacco can from Loring, filled his own pipe. Then he tipped a chair back against the wall, and sitting in it, regarded Loring for a moment in silence. “Stephen,” he remarked after a few seconds, “you have done a good piece of work. I knew that you would.” Loring’s irrelevant answer was to the effect that the tobacco which he had stolen was good. It was an odd characteristic of this man that though his nature contained many streaks of vanity, praise for work which he knew was good embarrassed him. At length he began to appreciate the ungraciousness of his response to Radlett’s advances, and leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees, he said: “You cannot guess what it means to me, Baird, to have you say things like that, to be patted on the back and made to feel as if I had done something, and that by a man who has succeeded in everything to which he has turned his hand, who has won all the big prizes of life.”