“Aw, wait—­Flo,” he begged.  “What’s your hurry? . . .  Come-give me—­”

“There!  That’s all you get, birthday or no birthday,” replied Flo, gayly.

Carley heard the soft kiss and Stanton’s deep breath, and then footsteps as they walked away in the gloom toward the stairway.  Carley leaned against the log wall.  She felt the rough wood—­smelled the rusty pine rosin.  Her other hand pressed her bosom where her heart beat with unwonted vigor.  Footsteps and voices sounded beneath her.  Twilight had deepened into night.  The low murmur of the waterfall and the babble of the brook floated to her strained ears.

Listeners never heard good of themselves.  But Stanton’s subtle doubt of any depth to her, though it hurt, was not so conflicting as the ringing truth of Flo Hutter’s love for Glenn.  This unsought knowledge powerfully affected Carley.  She was forewarned and forearmed now.  It saddened her, yet did not lessen her confidence in her hold on Glenn.  But it stirred to perplexing pitch her curiosity in regard to the mystery that seemed to cling round Glenn’s transformation of character.  This Western girl really knew more about Glenn than his fiancee knew.  Carley suffered a humiliating shock when she realized that she had been thinking of herself, of her love, her life, her needs, her wants instead of Glenn’s.  It took no keen intelligence or insight into human nature to see that Glenn needed her more than she needed him.

Thus unwontedly stirred and upset and flung back upon pride of herself, Carley went downstairs to meet the assembled company.  And never had she shown to greater contrast, never had circumstance and state of mind contrived to make her so radiant and gay and unbending.  She heard many remarks not intended for her far-reaching ears.  An old grizzled Westerner remarked to Hutter:  “Wall, she’s shore an unbroke filly.”  Another of the company—­a woman—­remarked:  “Sweet an’ pretty as a columbine.  But I’d like her better if she was dressed decent.”  And a gaunt range rider, who stood with others at the porch door, looking on, asked a comrade:  “Do you reckon that’s style back East?” To which the other replied:  “Mebbe, but I’d gamble they’re short on silk back East an’ likewise sheriffs.”

Carley received some meed of gratification out of the sensation she created, but she did not carry her craving for it to the point of overshadowing Flo.  On the contrary, she contrived to have Flo share the attention she received.  She taught Flo to dance the fox-trot and got Glenn to dance with her.  Then she taught it to Lee Stanton.  And when Lee danced with Flo, to the infinite wonder and delight of the onlookers, Carley experienced her first sincere enjoyment of the evening.

Her moment came when she danced with Glenn.  It reminded her of days long past and which she wanted to return again.  Despite war tramping and Western labors Glenn retained something of his old grace and lightness.  But just to dance with him was enough to swell her heart, and for once she grew oblivious to the spectators.