“Seems to me, having first choice, you might have been more considerate of my lot yourself,” Eloise declared.

“He was.  He saved you from a worse fate when he chose Mat,” I broke in.

“May we have a song by the choir?” Beverly interrupted, and with his full bass voice he began to roar our some popular tune of that time.

And it went on as it began, the rambles about the rugged bluffs and picturesque ravines, where to-day the hard-surfaced Cliff Drive makes a scenic highway through the beauty spots of a populous city; the daring canoe rides on the rivers; the gatherings of the young folk in the town; and the long twilight hours on the crest of the bluff overlooking the two great waterways.  And as by the first selection, Beverly and Little Blue Flower were companions.  Nobody could be unhappy with Bev, least of all the shy Indian girl with a face full of sunshine, now.  And I?  I walked a pathway strewn with rose petals because the golden-haired Little Lees was beside me.  Each day was a frolic day for us, teasing one another and making a joke of life, and for the morrow we took no thought at all.

One evening Eloise St. Vrain and I sat together on the bluff.  It was the twilight hour, and all the far valley of the Kaw was full of iridescent misty lights, with gold-tipped clouds of pale lavender above, and the glistening silver of the river below.  We could hear Beverly and Little Blue Flower laughing together in a big swing among the maples.  Aunty Boone was crooning some African melodies in the bushes half-way down the slope.  Rex and Mat had gone to the ravine below to meet Uncle Esmond.

“Little Lees, the first time I ever saw you you were away out there in such a misty light as that, and I saw only your hair and your eyes then, but as clearly as I see them now.”

Eloise turned questioningly toward me, and the light in her dark eyes thrilled to the heart of me.  In all her stay with us I had hardly spoken earnestly of anything before.

“When was that Gail?” she asked, the frivolous spirit gone from her, too.

“When I was a little boy, one day at Fort Leavenworth.  And when I caught sight of you at the door of old San Miguel I knew you,” I replied.

The girl turned her face toward the west again and was silent.  I felt my cheeks flush hotly.  I had made her think I was only a dream-sick fool, when I had told her of the sacredest moment of my life, and I had for the minute foolishly felt that she might understand.  How could I know that it was I who could not understand?

At last she looked up with a smile as full of mischief as on that day when she had called me a big brown bob-cat.

“You must have been having a nightmare in your sleep,” she declared.

“I think I was,” I replied, testily.  “Let me tell you something, Little Lees, something really important.”

“I don’t believe you know one important thing,” Eloise replied, “but I’ll listen, and then if it is I’ll tell you something more important.”