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 “Is Mac here?” she asked as they sat down.

“No. He eats late. You may not see him for days, and he won’t take any notice of you.”

She looked at the place set opposite his. “Who sits there?”

“Father Ryan. I thought you would not mind. He has always sat here. He is a charming gentleman. He’s away to-night. Why, here’s Benton.”

He rose to meet a large, loosely-built man in dusty riding clothes who sauntered with spurs jingling down the room towards them. Roger Benton was wiping his face with a handkerchief that would have scandalized his wife at that moment. He held out a big hairy, tanned hand to Valerie and dropped into the priest’s chair.

“I meant to be at the steamer, Miss Carr. I promised my wife I would, but my horse cast a shoe the other side of Te Koperu, and delayed me. How’s your father?” He looked at her out of gay lazy bluish-gray eyes.

“Fine, thanks.” She looked him over quickly, liking his boyish frankness and country comfortableness.

“Join us for dinner, Benton,” said Bob.

“No, thanks, I’m on my way to the camp. I just dropped in to greet Miss Carr. I hope you will like us.” His eyes rested on her again with a vague intentness. He thought her very stunning.

“I hope so too,” she retorted mischievously.

“It’s a small town but we manage to knock some fun out of it,” he went on.

“I shall like a great deal about it, but I’m not promising to like the things I shall be expected to like.”

He looked a little uncertainly into her amused eyes. “Mrs. Benton wants you to come along on Sunday afternoon to the camp, you and Lorrimer,” he said.

She hesitated a moment. But the word camp had