s like the first faint fragrance of young spring
seemed to hover about her. Kurt surveyed her with a look akin to
adoration. Then his eyes dropped.

"Don't dance with the boys to-night," he said abruptly.

"I must play the _ingenue_ part for which I am costumed," she thought.

"Mrs. Kingdon told me," she said gently, "that the boys had so few
opportunities for partners, I must divide my dances equally."

"There's a party of tourists--teachers--at Westcott's. I've asked them
over. The boys can dance with them."

"Well," she assented graciously, "I'll just dance with Betty and Francis
and Billy--"

"And me," he finished.

"Thank you. I didn't know that you danced."

In the dance hall she looked eagerly about, hoping that Jo might have been
invited, but she was disappointed.

"I am not dancing," she thought, when Kurt was guiding her over the floor.
"I am just being deliciously carried about. It's very restful, but not
exhilarating. Oh, Jo, where art thou? It was like drinking champagne to
dance with you, but I suppose continuous champagne is bad for one."

Later that night when she was taking off her dancing slippers her thoughts
were still of the man with whom she had danced so many times.

"He's kind and good and strong--a suppressed strength. He looks
passion-proof; but if he ever falls in love! And what a triumph for a
thief to capture an adamantine heart! But I don't want that kind--nor any
kind."

Down in the bunkhouse, Kurt was recalling the feel of her little hand that
had left a trail like fire upon his arm and had filled him with a
sensation of ecstasy. A new divine sweetness seemed born into the air. He
looked out of his window up into a star-flecked sky and renewed his old
vow of allegiance to The Woman.

CHAPTER VII

The next day Francis carried out his cherished intention of being a "bit
bad," and in violation of orders, surreptitiously mounted a "real horse"
instead of his well-behaved little pony, and set out on adventure bound.

The horse, surprised at his burden, cantered casually along at first;
then, resenting the intrusion, began to toss his head, snort and curvet
about. The lad, a little frightened but game, kept his seat and the horse,
seemingly ashamed to trifle longer with so small a foe, resumed his easy
canter, though at a swifter pace than Francis was wont to ride. All might
have ended well, had not Kurt in his home-made car suddenly sounded a
blatant horn as he came a