he very tips of her enamelled and
sensibly thick boots, implied that she was of a different class from
the ordinary, and satisfied on "common people" that impulse which
attracts her lesser sisters to the vulgar menagerie. She belonged to
the proper street--at the proper time of day. Any one acquainted with
the species would have known at once that this private-car trip to
Deadwood was to please the prosperous-looking gentleman with the side
whiskers, and that it was made bearable only by the two smooth-shaven
individuals in the background.

She caught sight of the pair directly in front of her, and raised her
lorgnette with a languid wrist.

Her stare was from the outside-the-menagerie standpoint. Bennington was
not used to it. For the moment he had the Fifth Avenue feeling, and
knew that he was not properly dressed. Therefore, naturally, he was
confused. He lowered his head and blushed a little. Then he became
conscious that Mary's clear eyes were examining him in a very troubled
fashion.

Three hours and a half afterward it suddenly occurred to him that she
might have thought he had blushed and lowered his head because he was
ashamed to be seen by this other girl in her company; but it was then
too late.

The train pulled out. The Westerners at once scattered in all
directions. Half an hour later the choking cloud dusts rose like smoke
from the different trails that led north or south or west to the heart
of the Hills.

"The picnic is over," he suggested gently at their noon camping place.

"Yes, thank Heaven!"

"You remember your promise?"

"What promise?"

"That you would explain your 'mystery.'"

"I've changed my mind."

A leaf floated slowly down the wind. A raven croaked. The breeze made
the sunbeams waver.

"Mary, the picnic is over," he repeated again very gently.

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"I love you, Mary."

The raven spread his wings and flew away.

"Do you love me?" he insisted gently.

"I want you to come to dinner at our house to-morrow noon."

"That is a strange answer, Mary."

"It is all the answer you'll get to-day."

"Why are you so cross? Is anything the matter?"

"Nothing."

"I love you, Mary. I love you, girl. At least I can say that now."

"Yes, you can say it--now."

CHAPTER XVI

A NOON DINNER

Bennington did not know what to make of his invitation. At one moment
he told himself it must mean that Mary loved him, and that she wished
him to meet her parents on