"Miss Sampson, here is Vaughn Steele to see you," I said.

"Won't you come in?" she said graciously.

Steele had to bend his head to enter the door. I went in with him, an
intrusion, perhaps, that in the interest of the moment she appeared not
to notice.

Steele seemed to fill the room with his giant form. His face was fine,
stern, clear cut, with blue or gray eyes, strangely penetrating. He was
coatless, vestless. He wore a gray flannel shirt, corduroys, a big gun
swinging low, and top boots reaching to his knees.

He was the most stalwart son of Texas I had seen in many a day, but
neither his great stature nor his striking face accounted for something
I felt--a something spiritual, vital, compelling, that drew me.

"Mr. Steele, I'm pleased to meet you," said Miss Sampson. "This is my
cousin, Sally Langdon. We just arrived--I to make this my home, she to
visit me."

Steele smiled as he bowed to Sally. He was easy, with a kind of rude
grace, and showed no sign of embarrassment or that beautiful girls were
unusual to him.

"Mr. Steele, we've heard of you in Austin," said Sally with her eyes
misbehaving.

I hoped I would not have to be jealous of Steele. But this girl was a
little minx if not altogether a flirt.