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 presented him to the late-coming guest formally, and the two of them stood a moment with clasped hands, looking into each other's eyes.

Hartwell saw that Dee Winch's eyes were gray, and that there was a shadow in them as of a sorrow, or the pain of an affliction that he had kept hidden from the knowledge of men. The young man's own dark eyes kindled to express the appreciation of one with so much apparent worth in him as little bow-legged Dee Winch.

"I met you this afternoon, sir, and I'm under great obligation to you," Texas said.

"It's the other way," Winch assured him. "We're all under obligation to you, a stranger, for doing what none of us here ever took in hand to do."

"It wasn't because of a lack of men to do it, sir, but for want of an opportunity," Texas returned.

Mrs. Goodloe cut off further compliments at this point by announcing that the guests would retire to the parlor, where Viney Kelly was going to sing, and Viney Kelly herself took possession of Dee Winch, with the request that he turn her music for her.

Miss Kelly was a lady of sentimental appearance, thin, as the general run of people in that country appeared to be. Her face was long, her cheeks meager, her mouth large and flexible. She took