She thought of telling him she had been too busy; then, moved by an impulse of impatience, met his gaze fully, and told him part of the truth.

“I should think you would understand that a girl has to be careful of what she does!”

“You mean about us being friends?”

“Oh, we can be friends, but——­If you can’t see it, then I can’t tell you,” she finished.

“I can see it, I reckon.  You saved my life, and I expect some human cat got his claws out and said it was because you were fond of me.

“Then you saved it again by your nursing.  No two ways about that.  Doc Brown says you and Jim did.  I was so sick folks knew it had to be.  But now I’m getting well, you have to show them you’re not interested in me.  Isn’t that about it?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t have to show me, too, do you?”

“Am I not—­courteous?”

“I ain’t worrying any about your courtesy.  But, look here, Phyllie.  Have you forgotten what happened in the kitchen that night you helped me to escape?”

She flashed him one look of indignant reproach.  “I should think you would be the last person in the world to remind me of it.”

“I’ve got a right to mention it because I’ve asked you a question since that ain’t been answered.  That week’s been up ten days.”

“I’m not going to answer it now.”

And with that she slipped past him and from the room.

He ran a hand through his curls and voiced his perplexity.  “Now, if a woman ain’t the strangest ever.  Just as a fellow is ready to tell her things, she gets mad and hikes.”

Nevertheless he smiled, not uncheerfully.  What experience he had had with young women told him the signs were not hopeless for his success.  He was not sure of her, not by a good deal.  He had captured her imagination.  But to win a girl’s fancy is not the same as to storm her heart.  He often caught himself wondering just where he stood with her.  For himself, he knew he was fathoms deep in love.

She was in his thoughts when he fell asleep.

He awoke in the darkness, and sat upright in the bed, a feeling of calamity oppressing him.  Something pungent tickled his nostrils.

A faint crackling sounded in the air.

Swiftly he slipped on such clothes as he needed and stepped into the passage.  A heavy smoke was pouring up the back stairway.  He knocked insistently upon the door where Phyllis and her guest were sleeping.

“What is it?” a voice demanded.

“Get up and dress, Miss Sanderson!  The house is on fire!  You have plenty of time, I think.  If there’s any hurry I’ll let you know after I’ve looked.”

He went down the front stairs and found that the fire was in the back part of the house.  Already volumes of smoke with spitting tongues of flame were reaching toward the foot of the stairs.  He ran up to the room where the girls were dressing, and called to them: