As though she were awaiting them, Mrs. Murray was on the porch.  With her was Barbee, who rose promptly and elaborately performed the ceremony of introduction.

‘Mr. Longstreet,’ he said formally, ’shake hands with my friend, Mrs. Murray.  Miss Longstreet, make you acquainted with my friend, Mrs. Murray.’

Mrs. Murray shook hands with them both, exclaiming brightly at her delight.  Then, as they all sat down, she and Helen considered each other.  Oddly, Helen had known all along that she would not like Mrs. Murray; now, and after the first probing glance, she was prepared for downright dislike.  Longstreet, on the other hand, was obviously very favourably impressed.  Nor without more than a little to be said on his side of the question.  The woman was young, petite, dark and unusually pretty.  Her teeth flashed in engaging smiles, her eyes were large and quick and bright; she was all vivacity; her glance could be at one moment limpid, humid, haunting, and at the moment hold a gleam and sparkle of mirth.  Even Helen could find no fault with her little travelling suit.

Plain to be read by anyone with a claim to eyesight was Yellow Barbee’s devotion; equally plainly decipherable, thought Helen, was the fact of Mrs. Murray’s amusement at Barbee’s infatuation.  It meant nothing to her; she was playing with him as, no doubt, she had played with many another susceptible youngster.  Helen was sure she read that in the eyes which the young woman turned now and then upon the languishing young cowboy.

Presently Alan Howard put in his appearance, freshly shaven and shorn, and they all went in together to supper.  Helen was unaffectedly glad to see him; she had seen all that she cared to see of Mrs. Murray and something more than that of Barbee.  Howard greeted Mrs. Murray casually; she cried a friendly, ‘Oh, hello, Al!’ and he stepped to Helen’s side.  Barbee hastened to place his big palm under Mrs. Murray’s elbow and steered her, after the approved fashion of the community, in to the table.  She allowed him the liberty; but while Barbee’s eyes devoured her face, Helen managed to mark that the ‘widow’ was studying Alan Howard.

At table Alan and Helen found a variety of subjects to interest them; Mrs. Murray stared at them a moment, then shrugged her plump shoulders and made Barbee transcendently happy and miserable by turns; Longstreet ate his dried beef stew abstractedly.  Barbee and Mrs. Murray, who finished first, excused themselves and went back to the gathering dusk of the porch, whence her light laughter came now and then trilling back into the dining-room.

‘Who is she?’ asked Helen, her eyes full upon Howard’s.

‘Mrs. Murray?’ He shrugged.  ’That is all I know of her; or that anyone I know knows of her.  I don’t fancy,’ he added coolly, ’that you will like her.’

‘I don’t,’ the girl announced briefly.

‘Mind you,’ he hurried to continue, ’I don’t know a blessed thing against her.  I just meant that I didn’t think her your kind.’