"Never mind his impudence!" exclaimed Alfred; and then again he
laughed. "Gene is all right, only you've got to know him. I'll
tell you what he did. He got hold of one of those newspaper
pictures of you--the one in the Times; he took it away from here,
and in spite of Florence he wouldn't fetch it back. It was a
picture of you in riding-habit with your blue-ribbon horse, White
Stockings--remember? It was taken at Newport. Well, Stewart
tacked the picture up in his bunk-house and named his beautiful
horse Majesty. All the cowboys knew it. They would see the
picture and tease him unmercifully. But he didn't care. One day
I happened to drop in on him and found him just recovering from a
carouse. I saw the picture, too, and I said to him, 'Gene, if my
sister knew you were a drunkard she'd not be proud of having her
picture stuck up in your room.' Majesty, he did not touch a drop
for a month, and when he did drink again he took the picture
down, and he has never put it back."

Madeline smiled at her brother's amusement, but she did not
reply. She simply could not adjust herself to these queer free
Western' ways. Her brother had eloquently pleaded for her to
keep herself above a sordid and brilliant marriage, yet he not
only allowed a cowboy to keep her picture in his room, but
actually spoke of her and used her name in a temperance lecture.
Madeline just escaped feeling disgust. She was saved from this,
however, by nothing less than her brother's naive gladness that
through subtle suggestion Stewart had been persuaded to be good
for a month. Something made up of Stewart's effrontery to her;
of Florence Kingsley meeting her, frankly as it were, as an
equal; of the elder sister's slow, quiet, easy acceptance of this
visitor who had been honored at the courts of royalty; of that