"To-night--to-morrow. I'm not sure."

"So I see," nodded the stranger. "Would it be worth while my waitin'?"

"That depends on what you call worth while."

"You're right. It does. Standards ain't always alike, are they."
He laughed silently, and pulled on his hat. "And it's a good thing
standards ain't all alike," he resumed, chattily. "Wouldn't it be a
funny old world if they were?"

The smile of him recognized Racey briefly, but it rested upon and
caressed the girl. She shook her shoulders as if she were ridding
herself of the touch of hands.

The stranger continued to smile--and to look as if he expected a
reply. But he did not get it. Miss Dale stared calmly at him, through
him.

Slowly the stranger slid his foot from the doorsill to the doorstep;
slowly, very slowly, his keenly twinkling black gaze travelled over
the girl from her face to her feet and up again to finally fasten upon
and hold as with a tangible grip her angry blue eyes.

"I'm sorry yore pa ain't here," he resumed in a drawl. "I had some
business. It can wait. I'll be back. So long."

The stranger turned and left them.