“I trust, then, you are enough of a gentleman to return the way you came,” she said icily.

Ben did not even glance at her.  He was looking at the dainty little figure still motionless at the table.

“If that is the mark of a gentleman, I am not one,” he answered.

The mother’s face flamed.  Like Scotty, her brain moved slowly, and on the spur of the moment inadequate insult alone answered her call.

“I might have expected such a remark from a cowman!” she burst forth.

Instantly Florence was upon her feet; but Ben Blair gave no indication that he had heard.  His arms still folded, he took two steps nearer the girl, then stopped.

“Florence,” he said steadily, “I have just seen your father.  We three—­he, you, and I—­are going back home, back to the prairies.  Our train leaves at eleven o’clock.  The carriage will be here in half an hour.  You have plenty of time if you hurry.”

Again there was silence.  Once more it was the mother who spoke first.

“You must be mad, both of you!” she cried.  “Florence is to be married in three days, and it would take two to go each way.  You must be mad!”

It was the girl’s turn to grow pale.  She began to understand.

“You say you and papa evolved this programme?” she said sarcastically.  “What part, pray, did he take?”

Blair was as impassive as before.

“I suggested it, and your father acquiesced.”

“And the third party, myself—­” The girl’s eyes were very bright.

“I undertook the task of having you ready when the carriage comes.”

One of Florence’s brown hands grasped the back of the chair before her.

“I trust you did not underestimate the difficulty,” she commented ironically.  “Otherwise you might be disappointed.”

Ben said nothing.  He did not even stir.

Another group of seconds were gathered into the past.  The inactivity tugged at the girl’s nerves.

“By the way,” she asked, “where are we going to stay when we arrive, and for how long?”

“You are to be my guests,” answered Blair.  “As to the length of time, nothing has been arranged.”

Florence made one more effort to consider the affair lightly.

“You speak with a good deal of assurance,” she commented.  “Did it never occur to you that at this particular time I might decide not to go?”

Ben returned her look.

“No,” he said.

Beneath the trim brown figure one foot was nervously tapping the floor.

“In other words, you expect to take me against my will,—­by physical force?”

“No.”  Ben again spoke deliberately.  “You will come of your own choice.”

“And leave Mr. Sidwell?”

“Yes.”

“Without an explanation?”

“None will be necessary, I think.  The fact itself will be enough.”

“And never—­marry him?”