enough to know.

Once more Gantry was putting two and two together. Blount's
determination to go West and grow up with the country--his father's
country--was apparently a very sudden one. Had the decision turned
entirely upon the senator's telegram? Gantry, wise in his generation,
thought not.

"You say that as if you'd been taking a few lessons," he laughed. Then,
with the friendly impudence which only a college comradeship could
excuse: "Is she here to-night?"

"No," said Blount, unguardedly making the response which admitted so
much more than it said.

"Tell me about her," Gantry begged. "I don't often read a love story,
but I like to hear 'em."

If it had been any one but Gantry, Blount would probably have had a
sharp attack of reticence, with outward symptoms unmistakable to the
dullest. But the time, the surroundings, and the exceeding newness of
Patricia's "No" combined to break down the barriers of reserve.

"There isn't much to tell, Dick," he began half humorously, half in
ill-concealed self-pity. "I've known her for a year, and I've loved her
from the first day. That is Chapter One; and Chapter Two ends the story
with one small word. She says 'No.'"

"The dickens she does!" said Gantry, in hearty sympathy. Then: "But
that's a good sign, isn't it? Haven't I heard somewhere that they always