"I am glad to hear that Glen is well," she said, determined on another tack. "He hasn't answered my letter."
Once more Bostwick colored, beneath his tan and the gun-metal tint of his jaw.
"I suppose he's been too busy," he answered. "Have you written again?"
"Not yet," she answered honestly. "I wasn't sure of his whereabouts. You are sure he's in Starlight now?"
"Yes—but you needn't write," he hastened to say. "He said he might come, perhaps to-morrow." He rose from his chair. "I've got to hurry off, little girl. These negotiations cannot wait. I'll run in when I can—this afternoon at the latest. I'm glad to see you looking so well." He approached her with lover-like intent. "My heart has been empty and forlorn, away from you, Beth. Surely you have a little—a little something for me, pet? You know how starved——"
"Oh—Mrs. Dick is coming!" she interrupted desperately. "You must have a great deal to do."
Mrs. Dick was making a large and lively noise in the kitchen.
Bostwick listened for a second, his deep-set eyes keenly fixed on the girl, like very orbs of suspicion and jealousy. He lowered his voice.
"Has that ruffian, Van Buren, been here recently?"
She raised her brows in well-feigned astonishment,