He grinned sheepishly. If she knew that her Billie, _alias_ Shaver, was
not with her husband at his father's house, she would not be dallying in
this fashion. And if the young father, who painted pictures, and left
notes in his studio in a blind faith that his wife would find them,--if
that trusting soul knew that Billie was asleep in a house all of whose
inmates had done penance behind prison bars, he would very quickly become
a man of action. The Hopper had never heard of such careless parenthood!
These people were children! His heart warmed to them in pity and
admiration, as it had to little Billie.

"I forgot to ask you whether you are armed," she remarked, with just as
much composure as though she were asking him whether he took two lumps of
sugar in his tea; and then she added, "I suppose I ought to have asked you
that in the first place."

"I gotta gun in my coat--right side," he confessed. "An' that's all I
got," he added, batting his eyes under the spell of her bewildering smile.

With her left hand she cautiously extracted his revolver and backed away
with it to the table.

"If you'd lied to me I should have killed you; do you understand?"

"Yes'm," murmured The Hopper meekly.

She had spoken as though homicide were a common incident of her life, but
a gleam of humor in the eyes she was watching vigilantly abated her
severity.

"You may sit down--there, please!"