ered
that the men who seemed the nicest only cared for her money, not for
her at all."

"How could she be sure of that?"

"It was proved, over and over again, in lots of ways."

"But if she is a pretty and charming girl----"

"I think she is only odd--like me. People don't understand her,
especially men. They find her strange, and men don't like girls to be
strange."

"Don't they? I thought they did."

"Think for yourself. Have you ever been at all in love? And if you
have, wasn't the girl quite, quite conventional; just a nice sweet
girl, who was pretty, and who flirted, and who was too properly
brought up ever to do or to say anything to surprise you?"

"Well," I admitted, my mind reviewing this portrait of Helen, which
was really a well-sketched likeness, "now you put it in that way, I
confess the girl I've cared for most was of the type you describe. I
can see that now, though I didn't think of it then."

"No, you wouldn't; men don't. My sister soon learned that she wasn't
really the sort of girl to be popular, though she had dozens of
proposals, heaps of flowers every day, had to split up each dance
several times at a ball, and all that kind of thing. It was a shock to
find out _why_. To her face, they called her 'Princess,' and she was
pleased with the nickname at first, poor thing. She took it for a
compliment to herself. But she came to know that behind her back it
was different; she was the 'Manitou Princess.' You see, the money, or
most of it, came because father owned the biggest silver mines in
Colorado, and he named the principal one 'Manitou,' after the Indian
spirit. I shan't forget the day when a man she'd just refused, told
her the vulgar nickname--and a few other things that hurt. But I don't
know why I'm talking to you like this. I wanted to get away from you
yesterday, because I--don't care to meet people. Everything seems
different though, now. I suppose it's because you saved our lives. I
feel as if you weren't exactly a new person, but as if--I'd known you
a long time."

"I have the same sort of feeling about you, for some queer reason,"
said I. "Are we also to know each other's names?"

"No," he answered quickly. "That would spoil the charm: for there is a
charm, isn't there? But we won't call each other Brat and Brute any
more. That's ancient history. I'll be for you--just Boy. I think I
will call you Man."

"But you hate Man."

"I don't hate you. If I were a girl I might, but a