A momentary flicker of something I did not recognize shone in my companion's eyes. Was it doubt or pity, or both?
"She ain't a married woman, is she?" she asked, quietly, as she rose and walked down the aisle by my side.
I laughed.
"No," I conceded, "she isn't, and neither am I. But you know even the Bible admits that of ten virgins five were wise!"
Her face, somber now, showed no reflection of my amusement. She seemed to be considering our claims to wisdom, turning over in her mind the possibility of help from either of us, and experiencing a depressing doubt.
"Well, you're women, anyway," she murmured, at last, a pathetic note of uncertainty lingering in her voice.
"Will you tell me your name?" I asked, "so that I may introduce you properly to Dr. Harland?"
"Tildy Mears," she answered, promptly; then added, with stiff formality, "Mrs. James Mears of the X. X. M. Ranch."
We were already facing Dr. Harland, and I presented Mrs. Mears without further delay. The leader met her with the brilliant smile, the close hand-clasp, the warm, human sympathy which rarely failed to thrill the man or woman she was greeting. Under their influence Mrs. Mears expanded like a thirsty plant in a gentle shower. Within five minutes the two women were friends.
"You're at the hotel, of course," Dr. Harland asked, when she heard of the sixty-mile drive across the country. "Then you must have supper with Miss Iverson and me. We always want something after these long evenings, and I will have it sent up to our sitting-room, so that we can have a comfortable talk."