"Not even Margaret," repeated the girl; "and that is the crowning sin in your eyes, isn't it? Well, I don't blame you, for she is very lovely; and how much she thinks of you!"
"Yes!" sighed the little lady. "Mrs. Haydon is a woman of very decided character, but not at all given to loving demonstrations to children. Long ago, when we lived closer, little Margie would come to me daily to be kissed and petted. Max was only a boy then, and they were great companions."
"Yes; and if he had been sensible, he would have fallen in love with her and made her Mrs. Lyster, instead of knocking around Western mining towns, and making queer friends," said the girl, smiling at the old lady's astonished face. "She is just the sort of girl to suit him."
"My dear," she said, solemnly, "do you really care for him a particle?"
"Who--Max? Of course I do. He is the best fellow I know, and was so good to me out there in the wilderness. There was no one out there to compare me with, so I suppose I loomed up big when compared with the average squaw. But everything is different here. I did not know how different. I know now, however, and I won't let him go on making a mistake."
"Oh, Montana!" cried the little lady, pleadingly.
Just then a maid entered with two cards, at which she glanced with a dismay that was comical.
"Margaret and Max! Why, is it not strange they should call at the same time, and at a time when--"
"When I was pairing them off so nicely, without their knowledge," added the girl. "Have them come up here, won't you? It is so much more cozy than that very elegant parlor. And I always feel as if poor Max had been turned out of his home since I came."
So they came to the little sitting room--pretty, dark-eyed Margaret, with her faultless manners and her real fondness for Miss Seldon, whom she kissed three times.
"For I have not seen you for three days," she explained, "and those two are back numbers." Then she turned to 'Tana and eyed her admiringly as they clasped hands.
"You look as though you had stepped from a picture of classic Greek," she declared. "Where in that pretty curly head of yours do you find the ideas for those artistic arrangements of form and color? You are an artist, Montana, and you don't know it."
"I will begin to believe it if people keep telling me so."
"Who else has told you?" asked Lyster, and she laughed at him.
"Not you," she replied; "at least not since you teased me about the clay Indians I made on the shores of the Kootenai. But some one else has told me--Mr. Roden."
"Roden, the sculptor! But how does he know?"
She glanced from one face to the other, and sighed with a serio-comic expression. "I might as well confess," she said, at last. "I am so glad you are here, Miss Margaret, for I may need an advocate. I have been working two hours a day in Mr. Roden's studio for over a month."
"Montana!" gasped Miss Seldon, "but--how--when?"
"Before you were awake in the morning," she said, and looked from one to the other of their blank faces. "You look as if it were a shock, instead of a surprise," she added. "I did not tell you at first, as it would seem only a whim. But he has told me I have reason for the whim, and that I should continue. So--I think I shall."
"But, my child--for you are a child, after all--don't you know it is a very strange thing for a girl to go alone like that, and--and--Oh, dear! Max, can't you tell her?"
But Max did not. There was a slight wrinkle between his brows, but she saw it and smiled.
"You can't scold me, though, can you?" she asked. "That is right, for it would be no use. I know you would say that in your set it would not be proper for a girl to do such independent things. But you see, I do not belong to any set. I have just been telling this dear little lady, who is trying to look stern, some of the reasons why society life and I can never agree. But I have found several reasons why Art life and I should agree perfectly. I like the freedom of it--the study of it. And, even if I never accomplish much, I shall at least have tried my best."
"But, Montana, it is not as though you had to learn such things," pleaded Miss Seldon. "You have plenty of money."
"Oh, money--money! But I have found there are a few things in this world money can not buy. Art study, little as I have attempted, has taught me that."
Lyster came over and sat beside her by the window.
"'Tana," he said, and looked at her with kindly directness, "can the Art study give you that which you crave, and which money can not buy?"
Her eyes fell to the floor. She could not but feel sorry to go against his wishes; and yet--
"No, it can not, entirely," she said, at last. "But it is all the substitute I know of, and, maybe, after a while, it will satisfy me."
Miss Seldon took Margaret from the room on some pretext, and Lyster rose and walked across to the other window. He was evidently much troubled or annoyed.
"Then you are not satisfied?" he asked. "The life that seemed possible to you, when out there in camp, is impossible to you now."
"Oh, Max! don't be angry--don't. Everything was all wrong out there. You were sorry for me out there; you thought me different from what I am. I could never be the sort of girl you should marry--not like Margaret--"
"Margaret!" and his face paled a little, "why do you speak of her?"
"I know, if you do not, Max," she answered, and smiled at him. "I have learned several things since I came here, and one of them is Mr. Haydon's reason for encouraging our friendship so much. It was to end any attachment between you and Margaret. Oh, I know, Max! If I had not looked just a little bit like her, you would never have fancied you loved me--for it was only a fancy."
"It was no fancy! I did love you. I was honest with you, and I have waited patiently, while you have grown more and more distant until now--"
"Now we had better end it all, Max. I could not make you happy, for I am not happy myself."
"Perhaps I--"
"No, you can not help me; and it is not your fault. You have been good to me--very good; but I can't marry any one."
"No one?" he asked, looking at her doubtfully. "'Tana, sometimes I have fancied you might have cared for some one else--some one before you met me."
"No, I cared for no one before I met you," she answered, slowly. "But I could not be happy in the social life of your people here. They are charming, but I am not suited to their life. And--and I can't go back to the hills. So, in a month, I am going to Italy."
"You have it all decided, then?"
"All--don't be angry, Max. You will thank me for it some day, though I know our friends will think badly of me just now."
"No, they shall not; you are breaking no promises. You took me only on trial, and it seems I don't suit," he said, with a grimace. "I will see that you are not blamed. And so long as you do not leave America, I should like you to remain here. Don't let anything be changed in our friendship, 'Tana."
She turned to him with tears in her eyes, and held oat her hand.
"You are too good to me, Max," she said, brokenly, "God knows what will become of me when I leave you all and go among foreign faces, among whom I shall not have a friend. I hope to work and--be contented; but I shall never meet a friend like you again."
He drew her to him quickly.
"Don't go!" he whispered, pleadingly. "I can't let you go out into the world alone like that! I will love you--care for you--"
"Hush!" and she put her hand on his face to push it away; "it is no use, and don't do that--try to kiss me; you must not. No man