ould do that. I didn't even know you knew him."

Dolly dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"There are lots of things you don't know, Jack MacRae," she murmured.
"Besides, why shouldn't I know Norman?"

MacRae threw out his hands helplessly.

"No law against it, of course," he admitted. "Only--well--"

He was conscious of floundering, with her grave, dark eyes searching his
face. There was no reason save his own hostility to anything Gower,--and
Dolly knew no basis for that save the fact that Horace Gower had
acquired his father's ranch. That could not possibly be a ground for
Dolores Ferrara to frown on any Gower, male or female, who happened to
come her way.

"Why, I suppose it really is none of my business," he said slowly.
"Except that I can't help being concerned in anything that makes you
unhappy. That's all."

He sat down on the arm of her chair and patted her cheek. To his utter
amazement Dolly broke into a storm of tears. Long ago he had seen Dolly
cry when she had hurt herself, because he had teased her, because she
was angry or disappointed. He had never seen any woman cry as she did
now. It was not just simple grieved weeping. It was a tempest that shook
her. Her body quivered, her breath came in gasping bursts between
racking sobs.

MacRae gathered her into his arms, trying to dam that wild flood. She
put her face against him and clung there, trembling like some hunted
thing seeking refuge, mysteriously stirring MacRae with the passionate
abandon of her tears, filling him with vague apprehensions, with a
strange excitement.

Like the tornado, swift in its striking and passing, so this storm
passed. Dolly's sobbing ceased. She rested passively in his arms for a
minute. Then she sighed, brushed the cloudy hair out of her eyes, and
looked up at him.

"I wonder why I should go all to pieces like that so suddenly?" she
muttered. "And why I should somehow feel better for it?"

"I don't know," MacRae said. "Maybe I could tell you if I knew _why_ you
went off like that. You poor little devil. Something has stung you deep,
I know."

"Yes," she admitted. "I hope nothing like it ever comes to you, Jack.
I'm bleeding internally. Oh, it hurts, it hurts!"

She laid her head against him and cried again softly.

"Tell me," he whispered.

"Why not?" She lifted her head after a little. "You could always keep
things to yourself. It wasn't much wonder they called you Silent John.
Do you know I never rea