Warden was suspicious—­that was evident.  She had thought, when he had entered her room at the hotel, that his manner was strange and not nearly so hearty as it should have been over finding her.  He had been too matter-of-fact and undemonstrative.

She never had loved Warden; she had not even respected him.  She had plumbed his nature and had found him narrow, selfish—­even brutal.  But she had permitted him to make love to her occasionally—­mildly, for what doubtful amusement she got out of it, and she had responded merely for the thrill it gave her to have a man pursue her.

When, after supper, Warden called her into his office and closed the door behind her, she had steeled herself for any attack he might make.  She was calm, and unmoved by what she saw in Warden’s face.

A lamp glowed on Warden’s desk, and he motioned her to a chair that stood beside it, so that when she seated herself the glare of the lamp was on her face.

While she sat there, a little malice in her heart for Warden—­because he had dared to suspect her—­he moved toward her and without saying a word laid before her the handkerchief he had found.

She took it up deliberately, looked at it, and as deliberately stuck it into her belt.

“It’s mine, Gary,” she said.

“I found it in a bunk at a Circle L line camp, occupied during the storm by Kane Lawler.  I thought perhaps you would like to explain how it got there.”

“I left it there, Gary—­I forgot it.”

“You admit you were there?”

“Certainly.  Why should I deny it?  Do you want to know why I went there, Gary?”

“I’d like to know, of course,” said Warden.  He was standing, tense, his eyes glowing with passion that he was trying to control; his face ashen.

“I started for the Circle L. I wanted to see Lawler.  You didn’t know that I had met him one day at the foot of the stairs leading from your office, in town.  Well, I did, Gary; and I fell in love with him.”

She heard Warden’s gasp; saw his eyes glow into hers with a jealous fury that seemed to threaten to drive him to violence.

“Bah; don’t be silly, Gary,” she admonished coldly.  “You know I never have cared for you in the way you wanted.  I shall have to respect the man I marry, and I never could respect you, Gary.  You are too—­too much as you are now.  You’d like to punish me, physically; you’d like to hurt me, in some way—­if you could.  You’ll never be a lover to any woman, Gary—­you are too insincere.  You never have loved me; you have merely been flattered over having me near you.  And it is only your vanity that is hurt, now.”

Warden laughed unpleasantly; though she knew from the expression of his eyes that he knew she had spoken truthfully.

“Well—­go on,” he said, shortly.

“That is all, Gary,” she laughed.  “Except that I got lost and went to the cabin instead of the house.  Lawler was there; we were both there—­for ten days.  And then, because I didn’t want my reputation to suffer, I had Lawler take me to the hotel at night, to make it appear that I had been there all the time.  Interesting, isn’t it?”