“Tell me,” she insisted, “has he been killed?  How do you know?”

Her earnestness, her perfect acting, convinced him.  It was a mere coincidence, he thought, that this name should have cropped up between them, but, now that it had, he must explain the whole affair so as not to arouse suspicion.  He cleared his throat and compelled his eyes to meet those across the table.

“Well, I don’t know much about it, only what I read,” he began, feeling for words.  “But that was the name; I remembered it as soon as you spoke, and that the papers said he had been mining in Colorado before he came into money.  He was found dead in his apartments, apparently killed by a burglar who had rifled his safe.”

“Is this true?  Why have I never heard?  When did it happen?”

“It must have been a month ago.”

“But how did you learn these particulars?  You have been West that length of time.”

“I read about it in a New York paper,” he answered a trifle sullenly.  “It was sent to me.”

She sat with her chin in the palm of one hand, watching him from beneath the shadow of lowered lashes, but his eyes were bent downward at his plate.

“Are you through?” he questioned suddenly.

“Yes; this—­this awful news has robbed me of all appetite.”

Neither had noticed Westcott as he entered the room, but his first glance about revealed their presence, and without an instant of hesitancy the big miner crossed the room and approached the table where the two were sitting.

Beaton, as though anticipating trouble, arose to his feet, but Westcott merely drew back a vacant chair and seated himself, his eyes ignoring the presence of the man and seeking the uplifted face of the girl questioningly.

“I hope I do not interrupt,” he said pleasantly.  “I had reason to suppose you were unacquainted with Mr. Beaton here.”

“What reason?” her surprised tone slightly indignant.

“I believe the gentleman so informed me.  It chanced that we had a slight controversy last night.”

“Over me?”

“Over his curiosity regarding you—­who you were; your presence here.”

She pushed back her chair and stood up.

“A natural curiosity enough, surely.  And you felt important enough to rebuke him on my behalf?  Is that what I am to understand?”

“Why,” he explained, startled by her strange manner, “I informed him that it was none of his business, and that if he mentioned your name in my presence again there was liable to be trouble.  We scrapped it out.”

“You—­you scrapped it out?  You mean there was a fight over me—­a barroom squabble over me?”

“Not in the barroom; in the hotel office.  Beaton drew a gun, and I had to slug him.”

“But the affair originated over me—­my name was brought into it?” she insisted.  “You actually threatened him because he asked about me?”