y a leap of hard light in
his eyes, and yet she knew that he was on guard in a moment. "Hanson?"

"Yes, and I saw him for a few moments," she lifted candid eyes to his,
"and, honest, Bob, it's all over. I never expect to see him again, and I
never want to."

He looked at her, as if trying to read her soul. "Say, Pearl, what is
this," he asked, "straight?"

"It's what I'm telling you," she looked back at him, nodding
emphatically, and then her face broke into a smile, her sweetest, her
most alluring smile. "Say, Bob, I got to thank you for a good many
things, not to speak of these," she touched the emeralds under her gown;
"but the biggest thing you've ever done for me yet was to keep me from
running away with Hanson."

Her sincerity was undoubted, and a flush of pleasure rose on his cheek,
and a light came into his eyes which only she could bring there. He
pressed her hands warmly, looking embarrassed and yet delighted. "You
never said anything in all your life, Pearl, that ever pleased me like
that."

She patted his arm lightly and caressingly, and smiled at him again,
under her lashes. She couldn't help that with any man. "You're awful
good to me, Bob; I guess you're the best and onliest friend I've got."

"I'm what you want me to be," he spoke a little sadly but very tenderly.
"It'll never make any difference to me what you do or what you don't do;
there'll never be any change in me."

She let her fingers lie in his clasp, but her glance was absent now, her
thoughts had flown again to Seagreave. "Goodness!" she exclaimed,
rousing suddenly and glancing at the clock, "I've got to make a hustle
for it."

She was ready half an hour later when Seagreave stopped at the door.
Hugh and Bob Flick had already gone, her father and Jose had settled
themselves for the evening over the cards, and Pearl stood before the
fire, a long, dark cloak covering her from head to foot and a black
mantilla over her head. Jose's eyes were full of longing.

"Oh, that I might go, too," he cried. "The Black Pearl may dance, dance,
after the spirit that is in her; may express her art, but I, although I
grow mad to express mine, must stay mewed up in these mountains with
nothing to do but cook and play cards and talk to a half saint and a
stale, old sinner. If Nitschkan and the petite Thomas had not come, I
should have died. Look at those!" he twinkled his long, delicate fingers
in the air, "there is not such another pair of hands on a c