“He left a worthy substitute welcoming-committee there, in the shape of Simon Cameron,” said Gavin.  “Simon was overwhelmingly cordial to me, for a Persian ....  I’m all right again, thanks,” he added.  “I had a grand night’s rest.  It was fine to sleep in a real bed again.  I hope I’m not late for breakfast?”

A shade of embarrassment flitted over her eyes, and she made answer: 

“My brother had to go into Miami on—­on business.  So he had breakfast early.  He’ll hardly be back before noon he says.  So you and I will have to breakfast without him.  I hope you don’t mind?”

As there seemed no adequate reply to this useless question. the man contented himself with following her wordlessly into the cool house.  She seemed to bring light and youth and happiness indoors with her, and the armful of flowers she carried filled the dim hallway with perfume.

Breakfast was a simple meal and soon eaten.  Brice brought to it only a moderate appetite, and was annoyed to find his thoughts centering themselves about the slender white-clad girl across the table from him. rather than upon his food or even upon his plan of campaign.  He replied in monosyllables to her pleasant table-talk, and when his eye chanced to meet hers he had an odd feeling of guilt.

She was so pretty, so little, so young, so adorably friendly and innocent in her every look and word!  Something very like a heartache began to manifest itself in Gavin Brice’s supposedly immune breast.  And this annoyed him more than ever.  He told himself solemnly that this girl was none of the wonderful things she seemed to be, and that he was an idiot for feeling as he did.

To shake free from his unwonted reverie he asked abruptly, as the meal ended: 

“Would you mind telling me why you drew a revolver on me last evening?  You don’t seem the kind of girl to adopt Wild West tactics and to carry a pistol around with you here in peaceful Florida.  I don’t want to seem inquisitive, of course, but ?”

“And I don’t want to seem secretive,” she replied. nervously.  “All I can tell you is that my brother has—­has enemies (as you know from the attack on him) and that he doesn’t think it is safe for me to go around the grounds alone, late in the day, unarmed.  So he gave me that old pistol of his, and asked me to carry it.  That was why he sent North for Bobby Burns—­ as a guard for me and for the place here.  When I saw you appearing out of the swamp I—­I took you for some one else.  I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” he made answer.  “I—­”

“You must have a charming idea of our hospitality,” she went on with a nervous little laugh.  “First I threaten to shoot you.  Then my brother stuns you.  And both times when you are doing us a service.”

“Please!” he laughed.  “And if it comes to that. what must you people think of a down-at-heel Yankee who descends on you and cadges for a job after he’s been told there’s no work here for him?”