"To Jo?" she asked in surprise. "I don't understand."

"You do understand. Jo told me what he asked you in Chicago and how you left him--to reform--to be worthy of his love."

"I haven't deceived Jo," she replied slowly. "I told him where you found me and why. He doesn't care. He understands. Jo loves--"

The pause that followed was so prolonged that she stole another side-glance. She had a sudden, swift insight into the power and vigor of the man--the inner man.

"That the girl he loves," she continued softly, "is a thief, makes no difference to Jo."

"Remember, Jo is only a boy--younger than you in all but years."

"Only a boy, it is true, but with the faith and love of a man."

He started from his chair and came up close to her.

"Answer me," he said, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Do you love Jo Gary?"

A sort of paralysis seemed to grip her, and she felt helpless to move her eyes from his. Her lips were slightly parted and he could feel the pull of her nerves. For a moment she looked like a startled deer, quivering at the approach of man, with no place to run.

Then she recovered.

"Ask Jo," she said defiantly, and sped from the room.

"Jo didn't tell me how much he had confided in Kurt," she thought. "What a wee world it is! I can't see how, with all the shuffling billions of people, the same two, once parted, should ever meet. I believe I was wrong about Kurt. For a moment I was almost afraid of him."

Kurt gazed into the fire, his gray eyes alert and a soft smile on his lips. He had not been misled. He had clearly read an answer in the young eyes looking into his own.

"She doesn't love Jo," he thought, and the knowledge was quickly darkened by the remembrance of what it would mean to the boy-lover.

CHAPTER X

"Jo!" called Pen, running down the road as she spied him driving away in a lightweight mountain wagon.

Quickly he reined in the pair of prancing horses.

"What 'tis, Miss Penny Ante? Isn't it great that I am back to stay?"

"Indeed it is. Where are you going and may I go, too?"

"Over to Westcott's, and I'd love to have you go with me."

"I'll have to get a furlough and a hat. Just wait a moment."

She found Kurt and asked his permission with all the pretty pleading of a child in her voice. Her face was singularly young; her eyes like a mirror.

"I've never ridden in a wagon," she said breathlessly, seeing that his expression wasn't as forbidding as usual. "And I'll come back. Can't you see I _want_ to come back?"

Something sweet dawned in his eyes.

"Yes;" he said, a note of exultation sounding in his voice with the knowledge that his last stand of resistance to long-held theories was giving away before some new force, powerful and overwhelming. "You may go.

I wish I were driving instead of Jo, but--"

He stood watching her as she sped back to where Jo was waiting, and his gaze still followed as the horses tore over the road to Westcott's. There was a far-away look in his eye and a faint smile about the curves of his mouth. Subconsciously, as though he were the one beside her, he followed in fancy after the wagon was lost to sight around the hills. He could see the point where the road would disappear into a plain, covered with soft gra.s.s over which the sleek horses would bound. He knew Jo's irresistible bubbling gaiety, and the sparkle she would add to it. He wondered why he had never thought to take her for a drive. There had been no chance to talk to her in their rides. She always put spurs to her horse when he tried to talk to her.

All sense of time left him. The symphony of the hill winds from the south was in his ears; the beauty of the day in all his being. Vividly he recalled their ride in the early dawn and the brief moment she had lain unconscious in his arms. Ever since that moment he had barricaded himself against her appeal and charm. He felt himself yielding and knew that the yielding was bringing him happiness.

"I am in a Fool's Paradise," he thought, "but still a Paradise. She doesn't care for me any more than she cares for Jo. I wonder does he know it, or is she deceiving him? I fear so, for he seems absurdly happy."

He was still lost in the dreams of the lotus-eater when he heard something that resembled the rattling of his own noisy car. Looking down the hill road from town, he saw a vehicle approaching which he recognized as the "town taxi." It turned into the ranch grounds and he quickly went to the front of the house, supposing that Kingdon or his wife must have returned.

A strange young girl was alighting. As he went wonderingly to meet her, he saw that she was city-bred. She seemed to be dazed by the illimitable s.p.a.ces and was blinking from the sunshine. His observant eye noted the smart suitcase and the wardrobe trunk the man was depositing on the porch.

There was city shrewdness in having had the amount of the fare fixed before leaving town.

She was a little slip of a girl with a small-featured face and a certain pale prettiness. There was an appealing tinge of melancholy in her eyes notwithstanding they were eager and alert. Her dress was plain, but natty and citified.

"Is this Top Hill--where Mrs. Kingdon lives?" she asked in a low, softly-pitched voice.

"Yes;" he replied, "but Mrs. Kingdon is away--"

"I know--but she wrote me to come here; that she would be home very soon."

"I am glad to hear that. Come in," he urged hospitably, as he picked up her suitcase. "The housekeeper will make you comfortable."

She hesitated.

"Is Miss Lamont in?"

"Miss Lamont--Miss Pen Lamont?" he asked in surprise. "She is a friend of yours?"

"Yes," she replied composedly.

"She has gone for a drive, but she will be back soon."

She followed him within and stood gazing at the pleasant interior,--books, pictures, piano and fireplace, while he went to summon the housekeeper.

"Mrs. Merlin, this is a friend of Mrs. Kingdon's," he said on his return.

"Will you show her to one of the guest rooms?"

"Oh!" exclaimed the girl in expostulary tone, "I am _not_ a guest. My name is--Bobbie Burr. Mrs. Kingdon hired me to do plain sewing for the children and to care for the linen."

There was no trace of a seamstress in the plain but elegant garb and appointments of the young girl, and Mrs. Merlin was at a loss as to the proper establishment of the newcomer.

"Maybe," she said to Kurt hesitatingly, "the room the last nursery governess had--"

"Any room will do," said the girl hurriedly, as she followed Mrs. Merlin.