cared to understand. Mrs. McCrae, as he mentally appraised her, was a
sensible woman. In her husband--big, quiet, self-contained--he
recognized a man as hard as himself. Young McCrae, silent, too grim of
mouth for his years, was the makings of another hard man. But it was at
Sheila that he looked the most, and at her if not to her his
conversation was directed.

So much for the simple magic of a white dress. When he had seen her
with Dunne, in a dusty riding costume, he had not been especially
attracted. He had not thought of her since. Now, she seemed a different
person. He liked her level, direct glance, her low, clear voice, the
quiet certainty of each movement of her brown hands. Farwell, though
his acquaintance with the species was slight, recognized the hall mark.
Unmistakably the girl was a lady.

Sheila, listening, felt that her estimate of Farwell needed revision.
He was a bigger man than she had thought, stronger, and therefore a
more formidable opponent. It seemed to her monstrous, incongruous, that
he should be sitting there as a guest and yet be carrying out a project
which would ruin them. But since he was a guest he had the rights of a
guest.

Afterward she found herself alone with him on the veranda. Her father
and brother had gone to the stables, and her mother was indoors
planning the next day's housework.

"You smoke, Mr. Farwell?" she said. "I'll get you some cigars."

"I have some in my pocket, thanks."

"No. Talapus cigars at Talapus. That's the rule."

"If you insist on it." He lit a cigar, finding to his relief that it
was very good indeed. "Well, Miss McCrae, I must say your hospitality
goes the full limit. I'm rather overwhelmed by it."

"What nonsense! Supper, a cigar--that's not very burdensome surely."

"It's the way things are, of course," he explained. "I'm not blind. I
know what you were thinking about--what you are thinking now."

"I doubt it, Mr. Farwell."

"Yes, I do. You are wondering how I have the nerve to eat your food and
smoke your tobacco when I'm here on this irrigation job."

It was her thought stripped naked. She made a little gesture, scarcely
deprecatory. Why protest when he had guessed so exactly?

"I'm glad you don't feel called on to lie politely," said Farwell. "I'm
pretty outspoken myself. I don't blame you at all. I merely want to
point out that if I weren't on this job some one else would be. You see
that. I'm just earning my living."

She was silen