say he was staring. It must be admiration of her toilette. She was
glad she was looking so well--she wished he might hear the frou-frou
of her silken skirt when she walked!

The consciousness of her unusually attractive appearance made
Missy's blood race intoxicatingly. It made her feel unwontedly
daring. She did an unwontedly daring thing. She summoned her courage
and returned the Strange Boy's stare--full. But she was embarrassed
when she found herself looking away suddenly--blushing. Why couldn't
she hold that gaze?--why must she blush? Had he noticed her lack of
savoir-faire? More diffidently she peeped at him again to see
whether he had. It seemed to her that his expression had altered. It
was a subtle change; but, somehow, it made her blush again. And turn
her eyes away again--more quickly than before. But there was a
singing in her brain. The dark, interesting-looking Stranger LIKED
her to look at him--LIKED her to blush and look away!

She felt oddly light-headed--like someone unknown to herself. She
wanted to laugh and chatter about she knew not what. She wanted to--

But here certain external happenings cruelly grabbed her attention.
Old Ben, who had seemed to slow down obligingly upon the girls'
greeting of Raymond, had refused to heed Tess's tugging effort to
bring him to a standstill. To be sure, he moved more slowly, but
move he did, and determinedly; till--merciful heaven!--he came to a
dead and purposeful halt in front of the saloon. Not "a saloon," but
"the saloon!"

Now, more frantically than she had urged him to pause, Tess implored
Ben to proceed. No local standards are so hide-bound as those of a