“You must be in the habit o’ takin’ things, Mr. Johnson,” broke in the Girl.  “I seen you on the road to Monterey, goin’ an’ comin’, an’ passed a few words with you; I seen you once since, but that don’t give you no excuse to begin this sort o’ game.”  The Girl’s tone was one of reproach rather than of annoyance, and for the moment the young man was left with a sense of having committed an indiscretion.  Silently, sheepishly, he moved away, while she quietly went over to the fire.

“Besides, you might have prospected a bit first anyway,” presently she went on, watching the tips of her slender white fingers held out transparent towards the fire.

Just at that moment a log dropped, turning up its glowing underside.  Wheeling round with a smile, Johnson said: 

“I see how wrong I was.”

And then, seeing that the Girl made no move in his direction, he asked, still smiling: 

“May I take off my coat?”

The Girl remained silent, which silence he interpreted as an assent, and went on to make himself at home.

“Thank you,” he said simply.  “What a bully little place you have here!  It’s awfully snug!” he continued delightedly, as his eyes wandered about the room.  “And to think that I’ve found you again when I—­Oh, the luck of it!”

He went over to her and held out his hands, a broad, yet kindly smile lighting up his strong features, making him appear handsomer, even, than he really was, to the Girl taking in the olive-coloured skin glowing with healthful pallor.

“Friends?” he asked.

Nevertheless the girl did not give him her hand, but quickly drew it away; she answered his question with a question: 

“Are you sorry?”

“No, I’m not sorry.”

To this she made no reply but quietly, disappointedly returned to the fireplace, where she stood in contemplative silence, waiting for his next words.

But he did not speak; he contented himself with gazing at the tender girlishness of her, the blue-black eyes, and flesh that was so bright and pure that he knew it to be soft and firm, making him yearn for her.

Involuntarily she turned towards him, and she saw that in his face which caused her eyes to drop and her breath to come more quickly.

“That damme style just catches a woman!” she ejaculated with a little tremour in her voice.

Then her mood underwent a sudden change in marked contrast to that of the moment before.  “Look here, Mr. Johnson,” she said, “down at the saloon to-night you said you always got what you wanted.  O’ course I’ve got to admire you for that.  I reckon women always do admire men for gettin’ what they want.  But if huggin’ me’s included, jest count it out.”

For a breathing space there was a dead silence.

“That was a lovely day, Girl, on the road to Monterey, wasn’t it?” of a sudden Johnson observed dreamily.

The Girl’s eyes opened upon him wonderingly.