face.

"No. Of course there isn't. How could there be? I'm only a girl."

"It ain't Brill then?"

"No. It's--it isn't anybody." She carried the war, womanlike, into his
camp. "And I don't believe you care for me--that way. It's just a
fancy."

"One I've had two years, little girl."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I _do_ like you, better than any one else. You know
that, dear old Jim."

He smiled wistfully. "If you didn't like me so well I reckon I'd have a
better chance. Well, I mustn't keep you here. Good night."

Her ringers were lost in his big fist. "Good night, Jim." And again she
added, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't you be. It's all right with me, Phyl. I just thought I'd mention
it. You never can tell, though I most knew how it would be. _Buenos
noches, nina._"

He released her hand, and without once looking back strode to his horse,
swung to the saddle, and rode into the night.

She carried into the house with her a memory of his cheerful smile. It
had been meant as a reassurance to her. It told her he would get over