He became one of the highest players that had ever entered the gilded apartment on Terpsichore’s second floor; he ordered more champagne than any man in Gumbolt; but for all this he failed to ingratiate himself with its presiding genius.  Terpsichore still looked at him with level eyes in which was a cold gleam, and when she showed her white teeth it was generally to emphasize some gibe at him.  One evening, after a little passage at arms, Wickersham chucked her under the chin and called her “Darling.”  Terpsichore wheeled on him.

“Keep your dirty hands to yourself” she said, with a flash in her eye, and gave him such a box on the ear as made his head ring.  The men around broke into a guffaw.

Wickersham was more than angry; he was enraged.  He had heard a score of men call her by endearing names.  He had also seen some of them get the same return that he received; but none so vicious.  He sprang to his feet, his face flushed.  The next second his senses returned, and he saw that he must make the best of it.

“You vixen!” he said, with a laugh, and caught the girl by the wrist.  “I will make you pay for that.”  As he tried to draw her to him, she whipped from her dress a small stiletto which she wore as an ornament, and drew it back.

“Let go, or I’ll drive it into you,” she said, with fire darting from her eyes; and Wickersham let go amid the laughter and jeers of those about them, who were egging the girl on and calling to her to “give it to him.”

Wickersham after this tried to make his peace, but without avail.  Though he did not know it, Terpsichore had in her heart a feeling of hate which was relentless.  It was his description that had set the sheriff’s posse on the track of her dissipated lover, and though she had “washed her hands of Bill Bluffy,” as she said, she could not forgive the man who had injured him.

Then Wickersham, having committed one error, committed another.  He tried to get revenge, and the man who sets out to get revenge on a woman starts on a sad journey.  At least, it was so with Wickersham.

He attributed the snubbing he had received to the girl’s liking for Keith, and he began to meditate how he should get even with them.  The chance presented itself, as he thought, when one night he attended a ball at the Windsor.  It was a gay occasion, for the Wickershams had opened their first mine, and Gumbolt’s future was assured.  The whole of Gumbolt was there—­at least, all of those who did not side with Mr. Drummond, the Methodist preacher.  Terpsichore was there, and Keith, who danced with her.  She was the handsomest-dressed woman in the throng, and, to Wickersham’s surprise, she was dressed with some taste, and her manners were quiet and subdued.

Toward morning the scene became hilarious, and a call was made for Terpsichore to give a Spanish dance.  The girl held back, but her admirers were in no mood for refusal, and the call became insistent.  Keith had gone to his room, but Wickersham was still there, and his champagne had flowed freely.  At length the girl yielded, and, after a few words with the host of the Windsor, she stepped forward and began to dance.