r coldly dispassionate
dissection of this or that foible of their own set, did not startle or
sometimes distress Barbara Allison; hardly a day but that her cool
voice, which could be as tempered as edged steel, did not cut through
the veneer of some custom or other and expose the crooked grain
beneath. Barbara did not know just why she cared so deeply for Miriam
Burrell--we scarcely ever realize that such a regard can be based only
upon the deepest of deep-founded faith--but at that moment, while she
and Steve were shaking hands so soberly, she felt very little, very
much ignored; felt as though she did not share at all the understanding
in their eyes.

"I've just asked Mr. O'Mara to come to my dance, Miriam," she said,
"and how did you know him, pray? I've asked him, but he is
unflatteringly long in accepting."

"Know him?" she echoed. "Know him! Oh, Mr. O'Mara and I have met
before. I think just before the fall of the Roman Empire, wasn't it,
Mr. O'Mara? Weren't they dragging me in at the wheel of a chariot one
afternoon, when you were dealing out a gold piece to each of your
legionaries?"

She laughed, dryly, and Barbara felt smaller and more forlorn and
lonelier still.

"No doubt Mr. O'Mara hasn't time to be flattering, Bobs," she
commented. "But you will have time to come Friday, for a little while,
won't you?" she asked.

Steve glanced down at the hand which still felt the pressure of her
buckskin clad fingers.

"I have to work--day and night--some weeks when things break badly," he
told her simply. "If I can"--and he turned to Barbara--"if I can, I
want to come."

Miriam nodded her head with brisk finality.

"If you can," she agreed. "Barbara, no doubt, has been telling you
about Garret Devereau, hasn't she? Yes--come if you can. I have
heard, Mr. O'Mara, that you have once or twice fought your way out of
the dark, when everybody else had lost hope. I want an opportunity to
talk with--a specialist in such campaigns!"

Stephen O'Mara had read a meaning in the words of that contained, often
abrupt, straightly tall girl of which Barbara Allison had not even
dreamed. He stood watching them when they turned up the driveway, the
horse Ragtime muzzling the woolly white sweater and following like a
dog. But he wasn't thinking of Miriam Burrell or of Garry Devereau,
while he waited for Caleb and Dexter Allison to come up with him. He
was wondering about Archie Wickersham--the Honorable Archie--