She looked up at him in swift gratitude; and he smiled at her and asked, “Now can’t you take a little heart from that, ma’am?” “He’s coming,” she whispered. And Jeff looked through the window again and saw that Viles had left Belter and the chauffeur in the car he had hired in East Harbor. He himself came steadily toward the kitchen door, while the two other men watched him from the road. Jeff and the woman heard his loud knock upon the door. At this summons Jeff left her where she sat, her strength returning. He opened the kitchen door and faced the man he had learned to hate so blindingly that the passion intoxicated him. Yet his countenance was calm, his features all composed. Viles was a large man without being fat; one of those men who have about them the apparent solidity of flesh which is the attribute of such dogs as Boston terriers. He may have been six feet tall, but he was inches broader across the shoulders than most men of his height. His countenance was peculiarly pink, as though rich blood coursed too near the surface of his skin. Jeff marked that he was subject to a certain shortness of breath, that his eyes were too small, and that even now a little pulse was beating in the man’s throat. Yet Viles spoke in a smooth and pleasant voice, said a jovial good afternoon and asked if this was Jeff Ranney’s farm. Jeff said it was. Viles asked, “Are you Ranney?” “I’m Ranney,” Jeff assented. He had not asked the other to come in; the screen door still separated them. “Ah,” said Viles. “I am told your niece from California is visiting you. I have a rather important bit of business to transact with her.” Jeff shook his head. “She ain’t my niece,” he answered frankly. “She’s your wife, that had to run away from you.” His voice was stony; but at his words Viles moved backward a step, as though under the impact of a blow, and Jeff saw the swift rage mount his cheeks in a purple flood. Then the rich man laid his hand upon the screen door, opened it. Jeff did not move to one side, and Viles said hoarsely, “Get out of my way, you impudent fool!” Jeff shook his head. “Listen, mister,” he said softly. “This is my house. You can’t come in here on your own say-so. I’m not fooling with you either. If you want to come in, you ask.” Viles lifted one clenched hand as though to sweep the other aside; and Jeff added, “I’ve heard enough about you so I’d like right well to mix it up with you a little bit--if you want to try anything like that. Do you?” “I want to come in,” said Viles hoarsely. Jeff considered this for a moment, then he spoke to the woman, over his shoulder. “Do you want to see him?” he asked her. “I suppose so,” she told him wearily. Jeff nodded. “All right, mister,” he said to Viles. “Come in and take a chair.”