understood the persevering grit that was the real reason for her liking
him. Nina, having adored him as a Greek god, continued her allegiance to
the workman at Copper Rock. She had written him letters regularly; she
had even sent him provision baskets. To herself she questioned whether
the end he was striving for might not be reached by smoother roads; but
if any one else suggested that he was doing an irrational thing, she
flew up in arms. And now as he came into the dining-room his "Hello,
Nina!" was much as a brother's might have been, and he kissed Mrs.
Randolph's cheek.

"Will you have lunch, John?" she smiled up at him. "It is all cold by
now, I dare say!"

"No, thanks, I lunched downtown; but I'll sit here if I may." He picked
up a knife from the table and cut the string of a package he held in his
hand. "I brought you these, Nina. Have you read all of them?"

Nina finished a mouthful of nectarine and picked up the books one by
one.

No, she had not read any of them. So he went on to explain: he knew the
cowboy story was a corker, and another, of Arizona, described an Indian
fight in the Bad Lands that was capital. He did not know much about the
others, but the man at the shop had told him two were very funny; he had
bought the rest on account of their illustrations.

Nina laughed deliciously with real joy--she loved his selection, because
it seemed to express him.

"It was awfully sweet of you, Jack. And I shall adore them! I am so glad