When he heard the woman’s step on the bottom of the stairs he turned and faced her.  She was looking straight at him, and as their eyes met he saw hers widen eloquently.  She half paused as she started to pass him, and it seemed to him that she was about to speak.  He smiled gravely, puzzled, hesitant, for her manner indicated that she knew him, or was mistaking him for another.  He paused also, and both stood for a fleeting instant face to face, silent.

Lawler noted that the woman was beautiful, well dressed, with a manner unmistakably eastern.  He decided that she had mistaken him for someone of her acquaintance, for he felt assured he never had seen her before.  He bowed, saying lowly: 

“I beg your pardon, ma’am; I reckon it’s a case of mistaken identity.”

“Why,” she returned, laughing; “I thought sure I knew you.  Are you quite certain that I don’t?”

There was guile in her eyes; so far back that he could not see it, or so cleverly veiled with something else that he was not aware of it.  It seemed to him that the eyes were merely engaging, and frankly curious.  He did not see the admiration in them, the elation, and the demure coquetry.

“I reckon you’ll have to be the judge of that, ma’am.  You certainly have the advantage of me.”

“You are—­” Her pause was eloquent.

“I am Kane Lawler, ma’am.”

He looked into her eyes for the disappointment he expected to find there, and saw only eager interrogation.

“Oh, then I don’t know you.  I beg your pardon.”

“I reckon there’s no harm done,” smiled Lawler.

He bowed again, noting that she looked intently at him, her eyes still wide and filled with something he could not fathom.  And when halfway up the stairs he looked back, curious, subtly attracted to the woman, he saw her standing in the doorway, ready to go out, watching him over her shoulder.  He laughed and opened the door of Gary Warden’s office.

Warden was sitting at his desk.  He turned at the sound of the door opening, and faced Lawler inquiringly.

Perhaps in Lawler’s eyes there still remained a trace of the cold passion that had seized him in the schoolhouse; it may have been that what Lawler had heard of Gary Warden was reflected in his gaze—­a doubt of Warden’s honorableness.  Or perhaps in Lawler’s face he observed signs which told him that before him stood a man of uncommon character.

At any rate, Warden was conscious of a subtle pulse of antagonism; a quick dislike—­and jealousy.

Warden could not have told what had aroused the latter emotion, though he was subconsciously aware that it had come when he had noted the rugged, manly strength of Lawler’s face; that the man was attractive, and that he admired him despite his dislike.

That knowledge aroused a dull rage in him.  His cheeks flushed, his eyes glowed with it.

But Warden’s smile contradicted his thoughts.  He managed that so cleverly that many men, watching him, might have been deceived.