.

A QUESTION OF NERVE.
"That was your victory, Miss Stevens.

Allow me to congratulate you." If Thurston showed any ill grace in his tone it was without intent.

But it did seem unfortunate that just as he was waxing eloquent and felt sure of himself and something of a hero, Mona should push him aside as though he were of no account and disperse a bunch of angry cowboys with half a dozen words.
She looked at him with her direct, blue-gray eyes, and smiled.

And her smile had no unpleasant uplift at the corners; it was the dimply, roguish smile of the pastel portrait only several times nicer.