The Daughter of a Magnate | Page 8

dictate very slowly. Let's make a trial anyway." To avoid
embarrassment he looked the other way when he saw she had taken up
the pencil.
"My Dear Bucks," he began. "Your letter with programme for the
Pittsburg party is received. Why am I to be nailed to the cross with part
of the entertaining? There's no hunting now. The hair is falling off
grizzlies and Goff wouldn't take his dogs out at this season for the
President of the United States. What would you think of detailing
Paddy McGraw to give the young men a fast ride they have heard of
him. I talked yester day with one of them. He wanted to see a train
robber and I introduced him to Conductor O'Brien, but he never saw
the joke, and you know how depressing explanations are. Don t, my
dear Bucks, put me on a private car with these people for four weeks
my brother died of paresis--"
"Oh!" He turnedc The stenographer's cheeks were burning; she was
astonishingly pretty. "I'm going too fast, I'm afraid," said Glover.

"I do not think I had better attempt to continue," she answered, rising.
Her eyes fairly burned the brown mountain engineer. u As you like," he
replied, rising too, "It was hardly fair to ask you to work to-day. By the
way, Mr. Bucks forgot to give me your name."
"Is it necessary that you should have my name?"
"Not in the least," returned Glover with in sistent consideration, "any
name at all will do, so I shall know what to call you."
For an instant she seemed unable to catch her breath, and he was about
to explain that the rare fied air often affected newcomers in that way
when she answered with some intensity, "I am Miss Brock. I never
have occasion to use any other name."
Whatever result she looked for from her spir ited words, his manner
lost none of its urbanity. "Indeed? That's the name of our Pittsburg mag
nate. You ought to be sure of a position under him you might turn out
to be a relation," he laughed, softly.
"Quite possibly."
"Do not return this afternoon," he continued as she backed away from
him. "This mountain air is exhausting at first--"
"Your letters?" she queried with an expression that approached pleasant
irony.
"They may wait."
She courtesied quaintly. He had never seen such a woman in his life,
and as his eyes fixed on her down the dim hall he was overpowered by
the grace of her vanishing figure.
Sitting at his table he was still thinking of her when Solomon, the
messenger, came in with a telegram. The boy sat down opposite the
engi neer, while the latter read the message.
"That Miss Brock is fine, isn't she?"

Glover scowled. "I took a despatch over to the car yesterday and she
gave me a dollar," continued Solomon.
"What car?"
"Her car. She's in that Pittsburg party."
"The young lady that sat here a moment ago?"
"Sure; didn't you know? There she goes now to the car again." Glover
stepped to the east window. A young lady was gathering up her gown
to mount the car-step and a porter was assisting her. The daintiness of
her manner was a nightmare of conviction. Glover turned from the
window and began tearing up papers on his table. He tore up all the
worthless papers in sight and for months afterward missed valuable
ones. When he had filled the waste-basket he rammed blue-prints down
into it with his foot until he succeeded in smashing it. Then he sat down
and held his head between his hands.
She was entitled to an apology, or an attempt at one at least, and though
he would rather have faced a Sweetgrass blizzard than an interview he
set his lips and with bitterness in his heart made his preparations. The
incident only renewed his confidence in his incredible stupidity, but
what he felt was that a girl with such eyes as hers could never be
brought to believe it genuine.
An hour afterward he knocked at the door of the long olive car that
stood east of the station. The hand-rails were very bright and the large
plate windows shone spotless, but the brown shades inside were drawn.
Glover touched the call-button and to the uniformed colored man who
answered he gave his card asking for Miss Brock.
An instant during which he had once waited for a dynamite blast when
unable to get safely away, came back to him. Standing on the
handsome platform he remembered wondering at that time whether he
should land in one place or in several places. Now, he wished himself
away from that door even if he had to crouch again on the ledge which
he had