nan tristram smiled to herself as she sat in the comfortable rocker before the open french window which gave on to the wide wooden balcony beyond. the view she had was one of considerable charm, for aston's hotel was situated facing one end of maple avenue, looking straight down its length, which was at once the principal and most beautiful thoroughfare in the picturesque western city of calthorpe.

but her smile had nothing to do with anything the prospect yielded her. its beauties were undeniable; she had admitted them to herself many times. but she knew them with that intimacy which robs things of their first absorbing charm. the wide-spreading maple trees, which so softened down the cold beauty of the large stone-fronted residences lining the avenue, were always a source of soothing influence in the excited delight of a visit to this busy and flourishing city. then the vista of lofty hills beyond the far limits of the town, with their purpling tints, their broken facets, their dimly defined woodland belts, they made such a wonderful backing to the civilized foreground.

nan tristram loved the place. for her, full of the dreams of youth, calthorpe was the hub of all that suggested life and gaiety. it was the one city she knew. it was the holiday resort of the girl born and bred to the arduous, and sometimes monotonous life of the plains.

but it was, in reality, a place of even greater significance. nan saw it only as it appealed to her ardent fancy. but calthorpe was a flourishing and buoyant city of "live" people, who were fully aware of its favorable possibilities as the centre of the richest agricultural region in the whole of the state of montana.

it was overflowing with prosperity. the ranching community, and the rich grain growers for miles around, poured their wealth into it, and sought its light-hearted life for the amusement of their families and themselves. its social life was the life of the country, and to take part in it needed the qualification of many acres, or much stock, a bank balance that required no careful scrutiny, and a temperament calculated to absorb readily the joy of living.

it was something of this joy of living which was stirring now, lighting the girl's soft brown eyes with that tender whimsical smile which was never very far from them. she was resting after the early excitements of the day. it was her twenty-second birthday, and, in consequence, with so devoted a father, a day of no small importance. she had been warned by that solicitous parent to "go--an' have a sleep, so you don't peter right out when the fun gets good an' plenty." but nan had no use for sleep just now. she had no use for anything that might rob her of one moment of the delight and excitement of the calthorpe cattle week, as it was called. therefore she undutifully abandoned herself to a pleasurable review of events whilst waiting for the next act in the day's play to begin.

and what a review it made in her understanding of the life about her. it was four years since her father and jeff masters had signed their partnership, and she knew that to-day, on the second day of the week, the triumph of the great "obar" ranch, which her father and jeffrey masters had so laboriously and patiently built up, was to be completed. now, even while she sat there gazing from her window at the panorama of life passing up and down the broad expanse of maple avenue, the council of the western union cattle breeders' association was sitting for its annual conference and election of officers. and had she not already been confidentially warned that jeff was to be the forthcoming year's president?

it was the crowning event in the long dreamed dreams of the two men whom she frankly admitted to herself were nearest and dearest to her. why should she not admit it? her father? ah, yes, her father was the most perfect, kindly, sympathetic father that ever lived. and jeff? a warm thrill swept through her heart and set it beating tumultuously. jeff was her whole sum and substance of life itself.

well enough she knew that no other bond than that of friendship existed between them; that no word had ever passed between them which might not have passed in the daily intercourse between brother and sister. but this did not cause her to shrink from the admission. jeff was her whole horizon in life. there was no detail of her focus which was not occupied by the image of the man whom she regarded as the genius of their fortunes.

there were moments enough when she realized with something akin to dismay that jeff and she were friends. but her gentle humor always served her at such moments. and there was always the lukewarm consolation that there was no other woman who had even a similar claim. therefore she hugged her secret to herself, and only gazed upon it in such moments of happy dreaming as the present.

and just now they were happy moments. how could it be otherwise in a girl so healthy, and with such a depth of human feeling and with such a capacity for sheer enjoyment of the simple pleasures which came her way? what an evening yet confronted her in this brief week of holiday from the claims of the green-brown plains of summer. she must be ready at seven o'clock for the reception at the city hall. she had a new gown for that particular event, which had, amongst others, been bought in new york. it had cost one hundred and thirty dollars, an unthinkable price it had seemed, but dismissed as something too paltry to be considered by the open-handed ranchman whom she claimed as father.

she was to assist jeff and her father in receiving the guests, who would represent all the heads of their cattle world, and their friends, and their wives, and their daughters. and after that the banquet, which, since the inauguration of the association, had always taken place, here at aston's hotel.

there would be speeches. jeff would speak, and her father--no, she hoped he wouldn't speak. her smile deepened. he had such a way of saying just what came into his funny, simple old head, and such a curious vocabulary. then, after the banquet, the--ball!

the girl emitted a deep ecstatic sigh. the ball! it was the crowning glory, and--she had a beautiful new gown for each event. it was a ravishing thought. perhaps a mere man may be forgiven his lack of imagination in his appreciation of such perfect, unutterable delight. but nan had no cloud to obscure her sun. the labor of dressing afresh, three times in one evening without a maid, except the questionable assistance of a hotel chambermaid, had no terrors for her--none whatever.

her day-dreaming was interrupted by an immoderate thump on the door. she turned her head at once, her pretty dancing eyes alight with expectancy.

"that you, dad?" she called.

"sure, nan." then came a fumbling at the door handle.

"you can come right in," the girl cried, without moving from her chair.

the door was thrust open, and the sunburnt face with its shock of curling iron gray hair and whiskers appeared round it. the deep-set eyes surveyed the room, and took on a look of deep concern.

"say, nan," he cried, "you'll never git fixed in time. i jest give you the limit of time before i got around. you see, i didn't fancy you not gettin' a good slep."

the girl shook her pretty head and smiled as she observed the careful toilet she felt sure her father had spent the whole afternoon upon. she sprang from her chair and surveyed him critically, with her head judicially poised on one side, and her pretty ripe lips slightly pursed.

"everything's bully but that bow tie," she declared, after a considering pause. "just come right here and i'll fix it. say, dad, i envy you men. was there ever a nicer looking suit for men than evening clothes? i'm--kind of proud of my daddy, with his wide chest and good figure. and that white waistcoat. my, but you don't look as if you'd ever branded a calf in your life. it's only your dear handsome face gives you away, and--and the backs of your hands."

nan laughed as she retied the tie to her satisfaction, the fashion in which a girl loves to see a bow tied. the man submitted meekly, but with concern for her final remark.

"but i scrubbed 'em both--sore," he declared anxiously.

"i don't mean they're dirty, daddy," the girl laughed. "was there ever such a simple, simple soul? it's the wholesome mahogany tan which the wind and the sun have dyed them. say, there, get a peek at yourself in that glass." she thrust him toward a wall mirror. "it's not girls only who need a mirror, when a man is good to look at, daddy, is it? honest? it doesn't make you hate yourself, nor feel foolish. i guess there's men folks who'd have you think that way, but if i know anything they'd hate to be without a mirror when they're fixing themselves for a party where there's to be some nice looking women, and where they're to be something better than just a 'stray' blown in."

bud laughed at the rapid flow of the girl's banter. but he had by no means forgotten his own concern.

"but, say, nan, you hain't got time for foolin' around. you surely hain't. it's haf after five, an' we're due at the city hall seven, sharp. y'see, you ain't like us fellers who don't need no fixin' to speak of. an' you're helpin' us to receive the folks----"

nan's delighted laugh rippled through the pleasant room.

"oh, my daddy," she cried, with wide, accusing eyes, "you're the best laugh in a month." then she held up one admonishing finger before her dancing eyes. "now the truth. what was the minute you started to make yourself--pretty?"

she sat herself upon a table before him with the evident purpose of enjoying to the full the delighted feelings of the moment.

bud eyed her steadily. he knew he was to be cornered. nor would it be for the first time. the relation between these two was that of a delightful companionship in which the frequent measuring of wit held no inconsiderable place amidst a deep abiding affection.

"say--a touch of the north wind around, nan, eh?" he smiled.

"never mind the north wind, daddy," nan laughed. "just when? that's what i need to know now."

the man's fingers sought his crisply curling hair.

"no, no," cried nan, in pretended alarm, "guess you're going to undo an hour's work that way."

bud dropped his hand in real dismay.

"guess i plumb forgot. wal, say, since you got to know, i'd say it must ha' bin right after din--i mean luncheon. you see, i'd----"

"ah, say three o'clock." nan leaned forward, her pretty face supported on the knuckles of her clasped hands, her elbows resting upon her knees. "oh, daddy--and you aren't due at the party till seven. four hours. four valuable hours sitting around in your dandy new suit of evening clothes. vanity. pure vanity. we're all the same, men who don't need--fixing, and women who do. only you men won't admit it. women do. they surely do. any woman's ready to admit she'd rather look nicer than any other woman than be all sorts of a girl other ways. and though they don't ever reckon to admit it, men just feel that way, too. oh, i guess i know. the boys are just yearning for the girls to think there's nothing but big 'thinks' moving around in their well-greased heads. and they'd hate a girl who got the notion they had time to stand around gawking in a mirror to see their clothes set right, or study the look they're going to pour into the china blue eyes of some tow-headed bundle who knows his bank wad down to the last cent."

she sighed heavily, but her eyes were literally dancing.

"but it's kind of nice that boys act that way," she went on. "it does give a girl a chance to think him all sorts of a god for--a while. say, if she knew things just as they are, where'd she find that scrap of romance which makes life all sunshine and storm clouds, instead of the monotonous gray it really is?"

she pointed at the snowy bed laden with the precious costumes she must use before the night was out.

"say, wouldn't it be just awful if every girl knew that the man she'd--marked down for her own, worried around with things like that before every party he was to take her to, same as she does? i guess she'll learn it all later when she marries him, and has two folks to worry for instead of one. but, meanwhile, she just dreams that he's dreaming those 'big thinks' that's going, some time, to set a dreaming world wide awake to the mighty 'thinks' she dreams into her beau's head."

then she began to laugh, and the infection of it caught her father, who gurgled heavily in chorus.

"say, wouldn't it be a real circus if a big, strong man had to act the same as us poor women? i mean when we're scheming to stir up a sensation in the hearts of men, and in the envy depot of other girls, when we enter the portals of a swell social gathering. now jeff. say, my daddy, can you see him sort of mincing across the floor," she cried, springing from her seat and pantomiming across the room, "smiling, and smirking and bowing, this way and that, all done up in fancy bows, and sheeny satins, and--and with combs in his sleek hair to hold it in place, and with a jeweled tiara set on top of it? and then--yes, just a teeny tiny touch of powder on his nose? my word!"

a happy chorus of laughter rang through the room as she returned to her seat, bud's coming in great unrestrained gusts. they were like two irresponsible children rather than father and daughter.

"oh, dear. and you, too," laughed nan. "we can't leave you out of the picture. being of more mature years i guess you'd sweep in--that's the way--sweep in gowned--at your age you don't dance around in 'frocks'--in something swell, and rich, and of sober hue. oh, dear, oh, dear. guess we'd have to match your mahogany face. wine color, eh? no 'cute little bows for you. just beads and bugles, whatever they are. but we'd let you play around with some tinted mixing of powder for your nose, or--or we'd sure spoil the picture to death. my, i'd die laughing."

bud's amusement threatened to burst the white bonds which held his vast neck.

"oh, quit it, nan," he cried, with his beaming face rapidly purpling. then he struggled for seriousness. "i didn't get around to listen to your foolin', child." then he bestirred himself to a great display of parental admonishment. "now, see right here, nan, i'll get back in an hour. maybe jeff's fixin' himself the way you said. i can't jest say. but anyways he's the big feller to-night, an' it's up to you to worry out so you can be a credit to him, an' me, an' the 'obar.'" then he came across to her and took her affectionately by the shoulders, and gazed down into her face with twinkling, kindly eyes. "say, you got more to work on than most gals. you sure have, nan. yep. your poor ma was a pictur', an' you're a pictur'. an' i ain't goin' to say which of you had claim for the best framing. anyway, what you have in your pretty face you owe to the dear woman who never had a chance of the framing you can have. so jest remember it, nan--and thank her."

nan's eyes had completely sobered at the mention of her dead mother, whom she scarcely remembered, and earnestness and affection replaced all her mirth.

"maybe i owe it her," she said, suddenly releasing herself from the heavy hands, and rising from her seat. then she reached up and slipped her soft arms about the man's neck. "and what do i owe to you? nothing? ah, my daddy, i guess you can shake your funny head till you muss up its contents to an addle. i'll not forget what i owe my momma, and just thank her all i know, but i'm thanking you too--just as hard."

she tiptoed until she was able to kiss him on the cheek. then her ready smile broke out afresh, and she gently pushed him toward the door.

"who is it wasting my time? there," she cried, as she opened the door, and her father vanished through it, "get right out, and don't you dare come back for an hour."

the ranchman's laugh echoed down the corridor as he moved away. then nan, practical and sober once more, closed the door and rang for the chambermaid.

* * * * * *

whatever success could be claimed for the men who had founded and built up the "obar" ranch, and it was more than considerable, the triumph of that night was in no small measure to the credit of nan tristram.

but when it was all over, when the last of the three beautiful gowns had been tucked tenderly away in the drawers which were their temporary home, and nan was left to the night solitude in which to go over once more in her secret thoughts each keenly vivid detail of the kaleidoscopic play of events as they had swept past her during the evening, they found her soberly wondering if, after all, the anticipated delight had been realized. was it possible in all that unquestioned success there had been no delight, no real enjoyment at all? it seemed impossible. it was impossible, and she tried to put the thought out of her mind. but it refused to be banished. it returned again--and again, and, in desperation, not untouched with panic, she assured herself that she was tired--very tired, and this silly feeling was the result. then, too, her humor was summoned, and it warned her of the quantity of ice cream she had devoured at the ball. it told her her digestion had suffered in consequence. and this she thought was a pity, because she loved ice cream.

but humor was swept aside by a far keener emotion. she scorned the idea of indigestion. she had no pain there. but there was pain, a silly ache about her heart which robbed her of all desire for sleep.

she tried to console herself by recalling her father's quaintly expressed admiration of her, when he first beheld her in her new and costly gown. what was it?

"why, say, nan, when i look at you i sort o' feel as if two fellers had bin at work fixin' you, a po't an' a painter, seems as if they'd set their mushy heads together, an' each had doped out what the other couldn't, till ther' ain't a thing left fer the fancy of plain mule-headed sort o' bussocks like me."

curious as his method of expression had been she had understood and thrilled with delight. but almost at once her thoughts flew on to much later when she was gliding through the dancing crowd at the ball. his eyes had followed her everywhere. but there was a change in their expression. to her it was a complete change. to her the simple approval had been replaced by a gleam of sympathetic concern. but this was after--after the first cloud had settled upon her hope of unalloyed enjoyment. perhaps the look had not been there at all. perhaps it was simply her own feelings finding reflection for her where none existed.

she became impatient with herself and grasped at the memory of jeff's greeting when she had first appeared in the hotel parlor, equipped for the reception.

he had not said much. but that was always jeff's way. but there had been his quick smile of unusual satisfaction. and the words of greeting had sprung quite spontaneously to his lips.

"say, nan, you're--you're just great."

the hesitation in the middle of it had told her even more than his smiling admiration. it was almost like--and she thrilled as she thought it--a gasp for breath.

she strove hard to support herself with these memories, out even as she considered them her mind passed on to the reception, and that stupid ache supervened once more. instantly her focus narrowed down. there were only two figures in it. the rest merely provided a setting for these two. all the lights, the decorations, the beautiful costumes and smiling faces, these became an indistinct blurr, leaving the image of mrs. elvine van blooren and a man standing vividly out.

what a wonderful, wonderful picture of radiant womanhood mrs. van blooren had made! even in her trouble nan was generous. the woman was beautiful in a way that poor nan had only dreamed of. the madonna-like features, calm, perfect. the dark hair, superb in the simplicity of its dressing. she remembered that at the first glance it had suggested to her the sheen of a cloudless summer night. and her gown, and her figure. the gown must have cost--ah, nan could not appraise its cost. she had had insufficient experience. her own maximum had been reached only now, and the sum seemed to her as paltry as her father had made it appear. the one certainty that remained with her, however, was that the taste displayed in mrs. van blooren's gown had placed it beyond such a thing as mere material value.

and then her heart had seemed to stand still. it appeared that jeff, who was talking to some other people, and she had become aware of mrs. van blooren's presence at the same moment. for when nan glanced in his direction he was gazing fixedly at the newcomer with a look in his steady blue eyes which she had never beheld in them before. oh, yes, there had been no mistaking that look. she knew she was not clever, but she was a woman, and no woman could ever mistake such a look in the eyes of a man.

but worse was to follow. there was a respite for her in the activities of the reception. for jeff was as busily occupied as she was. then, too, at the banquet she had ample time to recover from the shock. but the ball came, and they were both released from their duties, and everybody was left free to dance as only the western people love to dance.

it was then that her bitter cup was filled to overflowing. jeff danced six times with mrs. van blooren. six times, and one supper extra, while she had to content herself with a miserable two dances with the one man who, to her stood out foremost among all men.

it was during the long hours of that dreary ball that she had encountered her father's curious regard, and now she wondered if he had seen what she had seen. if he had understood as she understood.

nan wanted to cry. as she lay there on her snowy bed, restless, and wakeful, and troubled, there were certainly moments when her tired eyes filled with tears. but she did not, would not cry. she smiled to herself, and even laughed. she ridiculed herself and made jest of her absurd pretensions. she told herself a hundred times she had no claim upon jeff. he was free to do as he chose, to dance all night with any mrs. van blooren.

but when, at last, the first beam of daylight penetrated the light material of the window blinds, and slowly flooded the room, it found nan in a troubled sleep with two great unshed tears slowly welling in the corners of her eyes, and ready to fall heavily and sadly down the perfect moulding of her softly rounded cheeks.