e won't marry you. She can't."

"Why not? Because I don't belong to her social set?"

"No. That would be reason enough for Joyce or me, but I don't think it
would stop Moya."

"You mean--highgrading?"

"Yes."

Joyce interrupted further confidences by making her usual late
appearance for breakfast. At sight of Kilmeny her eyes brightened. Life
always became more interesting for her when a possible man was present.
Instantly she came forward with a touch of reluctant eagerness that was
very effective.

"I'm glad to see you up again--so glad, Mr. Kilmeny."

In the pretty breakfast gown which displayed her soft curves and the
ripe roundness of throat and arm she made a picture wholly charming. If
Jack was overpowered he gave no sign of it.

"Glad to meet you, Miss Seldon."

Her eyes rained sweet pity on him, a tenderness potent enough to disturb
the serenity of any young man not in armor.

"We--we've been so worried about you."

He laughed, genially and without resentment. "Awfully good of you.
Shall I ring for the waiter?"

India rose. "I'm going riding with Ned and Moya," she explained.

Alone with the Westerner, Joyce felt her blood begin to quicken.

"Are you quite ... recovered?" she asked.

Their eyes met. In his there was a faint cynical smile of amusement.

"Quite."

She understood the double meaning in his words. Her lashes fell to the
soft cheeks, then lifted again. "I thought perhaps there might be ...
that you might still be...."

He shook his head vigorously. "It was only a dream. I can laugh at it
now--and at myself for taking it seriously."

Joyce bit her lip with vexation. There was something not quite decent in
so prompt a recovery from her charms. He did not appear to hold even any
resentment.

Nor did he. Kilmeny had been brought too near the grim realities to hold
any petty pique. He found this young woman still charming, but his
admiration was tinctured with amusement. No longer did his imagination
play upon her personality. He focused it upon the girl who had fought
for his life against the ridicule and the suspicions of her friends. It
was impossible for him to escape the allure of her fine sweet courage
so gallantly expressed in every look and motion.

But Moya let him severely alone. Her pride was suffering because she had
showed to all her little world too keen an interest in him. In her
anxiety to repudiate any claim he might think she felt she had upon him
the girl was