ht of the food made him feel
suddenly ravenous. He watched her covertly, noting her matter-of-fact
movements. It was as though she had not the slightest idea that he
would refuse to eat, and he felt certain that he could not refuse. She
was making him feel uncomfortable again; that epithet, "silly," rankled
in him and he did not want to hear her apply it to him again. But he
would have risked it had she looked at him. She did not look at him.
When she had finally arranged everything to suit her taste she turned
her back and walked to the door of the dining-room.

"There is your supper," she said quietly. "I have fixed up your room
for you--the room you occupied before you left home. I am going to
leave the light burning in the dining-room--you might want to read your
letter again. Blow the light out when you go to bed. Good night."

He grumbled an incoherent reply, turning his back to her. Her calm,
unruffled acceptance of his incivility filled him with a cold
resentment.

"What did you say?" she demanded of him from the door.

He turned sullenly. The light mockery in her voice stung him, shamed
him--her eyes, dancing with mischief, held his.

"Good night," he said shortly.

"Good night," she said again. She laughed and vanished.

For an instant Calumet stood, scowling at the vacant doorway. Then he
turned and went over to the table in the kitchen, looking down at the
food and the dishes. She had compelled him to be civil. He gripped
one end of the table cloth, and for an instant it seemed as though he
meditated dumping dishes and food upon the floor. Then he grinned,
grimly amused, and sat in the chair before the table, taking up knife
and fork.

Early as he arose the next morning, he found that Betty had been before
him. He saw her standing on the rear porch when he went out to care
for his horse, and she smiled and called a greeting to him, which he
answered soberly.

For some reason which he could not explain he felt a little reluctance
toward going into the kitchen for breakfast this morning. Yet he did
go, though he waited outside until Betty came to the door and called
him. He was pretending to be busy at his saddle, though he knew this
was a pretext to cover his submission to her. He did not move toward
the house until she vanished within it.

He was quiet during the meal, wondering at the change that had come
over him, for he felt a strange resignation. He told himself that it