"It's great, living in the open out there," he went on, by this time
including the whole company in his exordium. "You ride, or tramp, or dig
rock all day; and at night you lie down under the clear stars, thankful
for your blanket and your rock-bed and your camp-fire; and more than
thankful if there's a bit of running water near by. It's a great life!"

Miss Reynier listened to him with eyes that were alternately puzzled and
appreciative. It was a discourse that would have seemed to her much more
natural coming from Aleck Van Camp; but then, Mr. Van Camp really did the
thing--that sort of thing--and he rarely talked about it. It had
probably been Mr. Lloyd-Jones' first essay in the world out of reach of
his valet and a club cocktail; and he was consequently impressed with his
achievement. It was evident that Miss Reynier and the amateur miner were
on friendly terms, though Aleck had not seen or heard of him before. He
had hob-nobbed with Mr. Chamberlain in London and on more than one
scientific jaunt. The slightest flicker of jealous resentment gleamed in
Aleck's eyes, but his speech was as slow and precise as ever.

"I was just trying to convince Miss Reynier that outdoor life has its
peculiar joys," he said. "I was even now suggesting that she should dig,
though not for silver. Does Mr. Lloyd-Jones' lucre seem more alluring
than my little wriggly beasts, Miss Reynier?"

If Aleck meant this speech for a trap to force the young woman to
indicate a preference, the trick failed, as it deserved to fail. Miss
Reynier was able to play a waiting game.

"I couldn't endure either your mines or your mud-puddles. You are both
absurd, and I don't understand how you ever get recruits for your