``You have come to finish that story?'' she said, smiling.
Miss Langham was a careful young person, and would not have encouraged a man she knew even as well as she knew King, to talk to her through dinner, and after it as well.She fully recognized that because she was conspicuous certain innocent pleasures were denied her which other girls could enjoy without attracting attention or comment.But Clay interested her beyond her usual self, and the look in his eyes was a tribute which she had no wish to put away from her.
``I've thought of something more interesting to talk about,''
said Clay.``I'm going to talk about you.You see I've known you a long time.''
``Since eight o'clock?'' asked Miss Langham.
``Oh, no, since your coming out, four years ago.''
``It's not polite to remember so far back,'' she said.``Were you one of those who assisted at that important function? There were so many there I don't remember.''
``No, I only read about it.I remember it very well; I had ridden over twelve miles for the mail that day, and I stopped half-way back to the ranch and camped out in the shade of a rock and read all the papers and magazines through at one sitting, until the sun went down and I couldn't see the print.One of the papers had an account of your coming out in it, and a picture of you, and I wrote East to the photographer for the original.It knocked about the West for three months and then reached me at Laredo, on the border between Texas and Mexico, and I have had it with me ever since.''
Miss Langham looked at Clay for a moment in silent dismay and with a perplexed smile.
``Where is it now?'' she asked at last.
``In my trunk at the hotel.''
``Oh,'' she said, slowly.She was still in doubt as to how to treat this act of unconventionality.``Not in your watch?'' she said, to cover up the pause.``That would have been more in keeping with the rest of the story.''