in the revelation which had come
to her in the first moment of her meeting with Hanson--her love for
Seagreave. In this new, exclusive emotion, the recent interview and all
that had led up to it became to her a mere unpleasant episode, upon
which her indifferent imagination refused to dwell. She wanted to be
alone, that she might fully realize this stupendous change in her
feelings and in her entire outlook upon life. As she thought upon it she
saw that it was no sudden miracle, wrought in the twinkling of an eye,
but an alteration of standards and emotion so gradual that she had not
been aware of it.

Back in the cabin she luxuriated, exulted in the fact that she would be
alone all day. She piled high the fire with logs, and threw herself in
an easy chair. Thus she could dream undisturbed, could lie watching the
leaping flames and vision for herself again that fair, regular, serene
face, that tall, strong, slender figure. She counted the hours until she
should see him again, until she should dance for him, for it was for
him, him alone, that she would dance.

Thus she passed the greater part of the day, and even resented the
intrusion upon her thoughts when her father returned a little earlier
than usual from the mine.

"I got a telegram from Bob to-day," he said. "All that was in it was,
'Coming up to see Pearl dance to-night.'"

"What!" she cried, showing her dismay. "What is he doing that for?"

"What he says, I suppose," returned Gallito, "to see you dance."

She frowned vexedly, but said nothing.

Her father spoke again. "How are you going down? You will not walk with
Bob and Hugh, Mrs. Nitschkan and Mrs. Thomas?"

"No," she answered carelessly, although a deeper crimson showed in her
cheek. "Mr. Seagreave said last night that he would take me down in his
cart."

Gallito nodded, apparently satisfied, and as Jose came in then to
prepare supper, the matter was dropped.

As for Pearl, her vexation of the moment was gone; it could have no
place in her mood of exaltation, and when, a few minutes later, she
greeted Bob Flick, he thought that he had never seen her more gay. All
through supper, too, her mood of gayety continued, but immediately after
that meal she drew Flick aside.

"Bob, I want to tell you something," she said. "No use Hughie, nor Pop,
nor any of the rest of them knowing anything about it," she hesitated a
moment, "but Hanson came up to-day."

There was no change in his impassive face, onl