No lady did such things, she told her niece.

Hazel’s laugh rang out like a bird’s notes as the two rode down the trail, not hurrying, for they had plenty of time. They could meet the others on their way back if they didn’t get to the mine so soon, and the morning was lovely.

Milton Hamar could appreciate nature’s beauties now and then. He called attention to the distant hills and the sharp steep mountain peak piercing the sunlight. Then he skillfully led his speech around to his companion and showed how lovelier than the morning she was. He’d indulged in such delicate flattery since they first started from New York, whenever the indefatigable aunt left them alone long enough. But this morning his words held something closer and more intimate—a warmth and tenderness that implied joy in her beauty, as he’d never dared before.

It flattered her pride. It was wonderful to be young and charming and have a man say such things with a look like that in his eyes—eyes that had suffered and appealed to her for pity. With her innocent heart she pitied and was glad she might solace his sadness a little while.

With consummate skill the man led her to talk of himself, his hopes in youth, his disappointments, his bitter sadness, his loneliness. Then he asked her to call him “Milton.”

The girl declared shyly that she never could; it would seem so strange. But, after much urging, she finally compromised on “Cousin Milton.”

“That’ll do for a while,” he said, smiling.

Then with growing intimacy in his tones he laid his hand on hers as she held the reins, and the horses both slackened their gait, though they’d been far behind the rest of the party for over an hour now.

“Listen, little girl,” he said. “I’m going to open my heart to you. I’m going to tell you a secret.”

Hazel sat very still, half alarmed at his tone, not daring to withdraw her hand. She felt the occasion was momentous and she must be ready with sympathy as any true friend would be. Her heart swelled with pride that he came to her in his trouble. Then she looked up into the face bending over hers and saw triumph, not trouble, in his eyes. Even then she didn’t understand.

“What is it?”

“Dear girl! I knew you’d be interested. I’ve told you about my sorrow; now I’ll tell you about my joy. When I return to New York I’ll be a free man. I’ve been granted a divorce from Ellen, and only a few technicalities must be attended to. Then we’ll be free to go our ways and do as we choose.”

“A divorce!” gasped Hazel. “Not you—divorced!”

“Yes, I knew you’d be surprised. It’s almost too good to be true, after all my trouble to get Ellen to consent.”

“But she—your wife—where will she go? What will she do?”

She didn’t realize the horses had stopped and that he still held her hand as she grasped the reins.

“Oh, Ellen will marry at once. That’s why she’s finally consenting. She’s going to marry Walling Stacy. From being stubborn about it, she’s quite in a hurry to make any arrangement now.”

“She’s going to marry!” gasped Hazel as if she’d rarely heard of such things. It hadn’t come so close to her friendships before.

“Yes, she’s going to marry at once, so you see there’s no need to think of her again. But why don’t you ask me what I’m going to do?”

“Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “You startled me so. What are you going to do? You poor man—what can you do? Oh, I’m so sorry for you!” Tears welled up in her eyes.

“No need to feel sorry for me, little one,” said the exultant voice, and he looked at her now with an expression she’d never seen in his face. “I’ll be happier than I’ve ever dreamed,” he said.