hem; she wrote a long, dashingly composed answer.

Two days later she said to her mother, out of a long silence over the
coffee cups:

"Let's go back to San Francisco. This stupid place gets on my nerves."

"Why, of course, dear," agreed Mrs. Gaynor. "I can have everything
packed this afternoon, and to-morrow----"

"Nonsense," said Gloria. "You know we can get packed in half an hour."

That day they left Jim Spalding in charge and departed for Truckee to
catch a train for San Francisco. Mrs. Gaynor dutifully entrusted to
Spalding her husband's message for Mark King. That is to say, that
portion of the message which she considered important. Gloria herself
left no message with old Jim; not in so many words. But she did impress
him with her abundant gaiety, with her eagerness for San Francisco,
where all of her best and dearest friends were. If any one should ask
old Jim concerning Miss Gloria, Jim would be sure to make it clear that
she had no minutest regret in going but a very lively anticipation of
the fullest happiness elsewhere.

_Chapter IX_

Three or four weeks passed before Mark King and Gloria met again. Weeks
of busy gaiety on her part, of steady, persistent seeking on his. Now
again Gloria and her mother and Ben were at the log house in the
mountains, this time with a fresh set of guests. Only one of the former
flock had been invited: Mr. Gratton. And this despite Ben Gaynor's
uneasy "This chap Gratton, Nellie. He's cutting in pretty strong here of
late, and I don't know that I like him. He's too confounded smooth
somehow."

King came the day after the guests arrived for a talk with Ben. Gloria
knew that he was coming and was coolly prepared to meet him. She gave
him a bright little nod, friendly enough but casual, and resumed her
lively chatter with her friends. King went off with Gaynor. That night
there was no moon, but the stars, those great glittering stars of the
Sierra, made the hour softly palpitant. King betook himself to smoke
upon that particular, remembered corner of the porch; Gloria, slipping
out from a dance, felt the little thrill that would not down when she
found him there. In their two chairs, necessarily close together since
the nook was so cosily narrow, her shoulder now and then brushing his as
she moved, the faint fragrances from her gown and hair blown across his
face by the night breeze--for them his pipe hastily laid aside--they sat
talking softly or in a pleasant sil