tching her as she sped back to where Jo was waiting, and his
gaze still followed as the horses tore over the road to Westcott's. There
was a far-away look in his eye and a faint smile about the curves of his
mouth. Subconsciously, as though he were the one beside her, he followed
in fancy after the wagon was lost to sight around the hills. He could see
the point where the road would disappear into a plain, covered with soft
grass over which the sleek horses would bound. He knew Jo's irresistible
bubbling gaiety, and the sparkle she would add to it. He wondered why he
had never thought to take her for a drive. There had been no chance to
talk to her in their rides. She always put spurs to her horse when he
tried to talk to her.

All sense of time left him. The symphony of the hill winds from the south
was in his ears; the beauty of the day in all his being. Vividly he
recalled their ride in the early dawn and the brief moment she had lain
unconscious in his arms. Ever since that moment he had barricaded himself
against her appeal and charm. He felt himself yielding and knew that the
yielding was bringing him happiness.

"I am in a Fool's Paradise," he thought, "but still a Paradise. She
doesn't care for me any more than she cares for Jo. I wonder does he know
it, or is she deceiving him? I fear so, for he seems absurdly happy."

He was still lost in the dreams of the lotus-eater when he heard something
that resembled the rattling of his own noisy car. Looking down the hill
road from town, he saw a vehicle approaching which he recognized as the
"town taxi." It turned into the ranch grounds and he quickly went to the
front of the house, supposing that Kingdon or his wife must have
returned.

A strange young girl was alighting. As he went wonderingly to meet her, he
saw that she was city-bred. She seemed to be dazed by the illimitable
spaces and was blinking from the sunshine. His observant eye noted the
smart suitcase and the wardrobe trunk the man was depositing on the porch.
There was city shrewdness in having had the amount of the fare fixed
before leaving town.

She was a little slip of a girl with a small-featured face and a certain
pale prettiness. There was an appealing tinge of melancholy in her eyes
notwithstanding they were eager and alert. Her dress was plain, but natty
and citified.

"Is this Top Hill--where Mrs. Kingdon lives?" she asked in a low,
softly-pitched voice.

"Yes;" he replied, "but Mrs. Kin