her there yearning for his kisses and caresses as never before, while he
watched the fire, and talked as to a mere acquaintance, and seemed sad and
far away? Or did she merely imagine that? Only one thing could she be sure
of at that moment, and it was that pride would never be her ally.

"Glenn, look here," she said, sliding her chair close to his and holding
out her left hand, slim and white, with its glittering diamond on the
third finger.

He took her hand in his and pressed it, and smiled at her. "Yes, Carley,
it's a beautiful, soft little hand. But I think I'd like it better if it
were strong and brown, and coarse on the inside--from useful work."

"Like Flo Hutter's?" queried Carley.

"Yes."

Carley looked proudly into his eyes. "People are born in different
stations. I respect your little Western friend, Glenn, but could I wash and
sweep, milk cows and chop wood, and all that sort of thing?"

"I suppose you couldn't," he admitted, with a blunt little laugh.

"Would you want me to?" she asked.

"Well, that's hard to say," he replied, knitting his brows. "I hardly know.
I think it depends on you. . . . But if you did do such work wouldn't you
be happier?"

"Happier! Why Glenn, I'd be miserable! ... But listen. It wasn't my