Corliss was a good employer, paid well, and considered it his right to work men as he worked himself.  Those who took service with him either strengthened their own manhood and remained, or quit and said harsh things about him.  Jacob Welse noted this trait with appreciation, and he sounded the mining engineer’s praises continually.  Frona heard and was gratified, for she liked the things her father liked; and she was more gratified because the man was Corliss.  But in his rush of business she saw less of him than formerly, while St. Vincent came to occupy a greater and growing portion of her time.  His healthful, optimistic spirit pleased her, while he corresponded well to her idealized natural man and favorite racial type.  Her first doubt—­that if what he said was true—­had passed away.  All the evidence had gone counter.  Men who at first questioned the truth of his wonderful adventures gave in after hearing him talk.  Those to any extent conversant with the parts of the world he made mention of, could not but acknowledge that he knew what he talked about.  Young Soley, representing Bannock’s News Syndicate, and Holmes of the Fairweather, recollected his return to the world in ’91, and the sensation created thereby.  And Sid Winslow, Pacific Coast journalist, had made his acquaintance at the Wanderers’ Club shortly after he landed from the United States revenue cutter which had brought him down from the north.  Further, as Frona well saw, he bore the ear-marks of his experiences; they showed their handiwork in his whole outlook on life.  Then the primitive was strong in him, and his was a passionate race pride which fully matched hers.  In the absence of Corliss they were much together, went out frequently with the dogs, and grew to know each other thoroughly.

All of which was not pleasant to Corliss, especially when the brief intervals he could devote to her were usually intruded upon by the correspondent.  Naturally, Corliss was not drawn to him, and other men, who knew or had heard of the Opera House occurrence, only accepted him after a tentative fashion.  Trethaway had the indiscretion, once or twice, to speak slightingly of him, but so fiercely was he defended by his admirers that the colonel developed the good taste to thenceforward keep his tongue between his teeth.  Once, Corliss, listening to an extravagant panegyric bursting from the lips of Mrs. Schoville, permitted himself the luxury of an incredulous smile; but the quick wave of color in Frona’s face, and the gathering of the brows, warned him.

At another time he was unwise enough and angry enough to refer to the Opera House broil.  He was carried away, and what he might have said of that night’s happening would have redounded neither to St. Vincent’s credit nor to his own, had not Frona innocently put a seal upon his lips ere he had properly begun.

“Yes,” she said.  “Mr. St. Vincent told me about it.  He met you for the first time that night, I believe.  You all fought royally on his side,—­you and Colonel Trethaway.  He spoke his admiration unreservedly and, to tell the truth, with enthusiasm.”