“What a raving belle you are!” remarked Marian Chase, as the young men rode away.  “Three is a good many at a time, though, isn’t it?”

“Three what?”

“Three—­hem! leaves—­to one Clover!”

“It’s the usual allowance, I believe.  If there were four, now—­”

“Oh, I dare say there will be.  They seem to collect round you like wasps round honey.  It’s some natural law, I presume,—­gravitation or levitation, which is it?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, and don’t try to tease me, Poppy.  People out here are so kind that it’s enough to spoil anybody.”

“Kind, forsooth!  Do you consider it all pure kindness?  Really, for such a belle, you’re very innocent.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” protested Clover, laughing and coloring.  “I never was a belle in my life, and that’s the second time you’ve called me that.  Nobody ever said such things to me in Burnet.”

“Ah, you had to come to Colorado to find out how attractive you could be.  Burnet must be a very quiet place.  Never mind; you sha’n’t be teased, Clover dear.  Only don’t let this trefoil of yours get to fighting with one another.  That good-looking cousin of yours was casting quite murderous glances at poor Thurber Wade just now.”

“Clarence is a dear boy; but he’s rather spoiled and not quite grown up yet, I think.”

“When are you coming back from the Marshall Pass?” inquired Geoff, after dinner, when Clarence had gone for the horses.

“On Saturday.  We shall only be gone two days.”

“Then I will ride in on Thursday morning, if you will permit, with my field-glass.  It is a particularly good one, and you may find it useful for the distant views.”

“When are you coming back?” demanded Clarence, a little later.  “Saturday?  Then I sha’n’t be in again before Monday.”

“Won’t you want your letters?”

“Oh, I guess there won’t be any worth coming for till then.”

“Not a letter from your mother?”

“She only writes once in a while.  Most of what I get comes from pa.”

“Cousin Olivia never did seem to care much for Clarence,” remarked Clover, after they were gone.  “He would have been a great deal nicer if he had had a pleasanter time at home.  It makes such a difference with boys.  Now Mr. Templestowe has a lovely mother, I’m sure.”

“Oh!” was all the reply that Phil would vouchsafe.

“How queer people are!” thought little Clover to herself afterward.  “Neither of those boys quite liked our going on this expedition, I think,—­though I’m sure I can’t imagine why; but they behaved so differently.  Mr. Templestowe thought of us and something which might give us pleasure; and Clarence only thought about himself.  Poor Clarence! he never had half a chance till he came here.  It isn’t all his fault.”