"Yes, a real man."
There was no mistaking the significance of these last words, which she uttered with strong emphasis, as if they came right from the heart.
The broker sat up with a start. At first he was too surprised to speak, but quickly he regained his composure, and gave vent to a long, low whistle, which was inaudible to his companion. Carelessly throwing his cigar over the balustrade, he rose from his seat, and stood leaning on another chair a short distance away. Laura, meantime, had not moved, except to place her left hand on a cushion and lean her head wearily against it. She still sat motionless, her gaze steadfastly fixed on the road in the pass. Brockton broke the rather awkward silence.
"A real man?" he echoed. "By that you mean——"
"Just that," she said testily, "a real man."
He gave an imperceptible shrug with his shoulders, and his tone was tinged with irony as he inquired with forced mildness:
"Any different—from the many you have known?"
"Yes," she retorted; "from all I have known."
He laughed derisively.
"So that's why you didn't come into Denver to meet me to-day, but left word for me to come out here?"