“You’re wondering how it all happened,” said he, “but you don’t want to ask about it.  I’m going to tell you the story of your life.  You see, Bert and I knew the Fays very well in Boston, and we knew also that they were out here in the Hills.  That’s what tickled us so when you said you were coming out to this very place.  You know yourself, Ben, that you were pretty green when you were in New York—­you must know it, because you have got over it so nicely since—­and it struck us, after you talked so much about the ‘Wild West,’ that it would be a shame if you didn’t get some of it.  So we wrote Jim that you were coming, and to see to it that you had a time.”

Jim chuckled a little.  “From his letters, I guess you had it.  He wrote about that horse he sprung on you, and the time they lynched you, and all the rest of it, and we thought we had done pretty well, especially since Jim wrote he thought you weren’t half bad, and had come through in good shape.  He wrote, too, that you had run against Bill, and that Bill was fooling you up in some way—­way unspecified.  He seemed to be a little afraid that Bill was trifling with your young affections—­how is it Ben, anyway?—­but he said that Bill was very haughty on the subject, and as he’d never been able to do anything with her before, he didn’t believe he’d have much success if he should try now.  I suggested that Bill might get in a little deep herself,” went on James, watching his listener’s face keenly, “but Bert seemed inclined to the opinion that any one as experienced as Bill was perfectly able to take care of herself anywhere.  She’s a mighty fine girl, Ben, old man,” suddenly concluded this startling youth, holding out his hand, “and I wish you every success in the world in getting her!”

“Thank you, Jeems,” replied Bennington simply, without attempting to deny the state of affairs.  “I’m sure I’m glad of your good wishes, but I’m afraid I haven’t any show now.”  He sighed deeply.

“I’ll give an opinion on that after I see Bill again,” observed the artist sagely.

“It always struck me as being queer that two of the most refined people about here should happen to be living in the same house,” commented Bennington, only just aware that it had so struck him.

“Did it, indeed?” said Leslie drolly.  “You’re just bursting with sagacity now, aren’t you?  And your Sherlock-Holmes intellect is seething with conjecture.  The lover’s soul is far above the sordid earthly considerations which interest us ordinary mortals, but I’ll bet a hat you are wondering how it comes that a Boston girl is out here without any more restraint on her actions than a careless brother who doesn’t bother himself, and why she’s out here at all, and a few things like that.  ’Fess up.”

“Well,” acknowledged Bennington a trifle reluctantly, “of course it is a little out of the ordinary, but then it’s all right, somehow, I’ll swear.”