rs on.

"Don't you sing, Mr. Spencer?" asked Violet by way of beginning a
conversation, as she turned her splendid eyes full upon him. Robinson
would have lost his head under them, but Spencer kept his heroically.

"No," was his calmly brief reply, given without any bluntness, but
with no evident intention of saying anything more.

In spite of her social experience Violet felt disconcerted.

"If he doesn't want to talk to me I won't try to make him," she
thought crossly. No man had ever snubbed her so before.

Spencer listened immovably to the music for a time. Then he turned to
his companion with a palpable effort to be civilly sociable.

"How do you like the west, Miss Thayer?" he said.

Violet smiled--the smile most men found dangerous.

"Very much, so far as I have seen it. There is a flavour about the
life here that I like, but I dare say it would soon pall. It must be
horribly lonesome here most of the time, especially in winter."

"The M.P.s are always growling that it is," returned Spencer with a
slight smile. "For my own part I never find it so."

Violet decided that his smile was very becoming to him and that she
liked the way his dark hair grew over his forehead.

"I don't think I've seen you at Lone Poplar Villa before?" she said.

"No. I haven't been here for some time. I came up tonight to see the
Major about the Loon Lake trouble."

"Otherwise you wouldn't have come," thought Violet.
"Flattering--very!" Aloud she said, "Is it serious?"

"Oh, no. A mere squabble among the Indians. Have you ever visited the
Reservation, Miss Thayer? No? Well, you should get some of your M.P.
friends to take you out. It would be worth while."

"Why don't you ask me to go yourself?" said Violet audaciously.

Spencer smiled again. "Have I failed in politeness by not doing so? I
fear you would find me an insufferably dull companion."

So he was not going to ask her after all. Violet felt piqued. She was
also conscious of a sensation very near akin to disappointment. She
looked across at Madison. How trim and dapper he was!

"I hate a bandbox man," she said to herself.

Spencer meanwhile had picked up one of Mrs. Hill's novels from the
stand beside him.

"_Fools of Habit_," he said, glancing at the cover. "I see it is
making quite a sensation down east. I suppose you've read it?"

"Yes. It is very frivolous and clever--all froth but delightful froth.
Did you like it?"

Spencer balanced the novel reflect