The Joyous Trouble Maker. Jackson Gregory
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almost, yet not quite, smiling. Had his expression been different she might have thought that this big, loosely clad young fellow in soft shirt and boots was tongue tied temporarily through embarrassment growing from surroundings unaccustomed.
For his part, William Steele had business with her, a young woman of whom he had heard much, whom until today he had never seen, whom, until this moment, he had not had the opportunity to look upon closely. Before he so much as opened his lips he meant to have his own tentative opinion of his hostess, an opinion which took no stock of hearsay but relied upon what scant evidence was now his at first hand.
She was littler than he had expected, not a tall woman by any means. He was sure that her figure left nothing to be desired. If it had, he was cautiously aware, the soft, dark green gown into which she had changed since her ride, would have taken care of that matter. She knew how to dress; one point immediately and definitely established. That was something. A woman should know how to dress; it is a part of her business.
Her hands … and hands are to be overlooked no more than eyes or mouth … were what he had supposed he would find them. Very soft skinned, very pink-and-white. Like the lily, she toiled not with them nor did she spin. A second point.
Her eyes … he found them her chief charm, and sweepingly and without reserve he had acknowledged her unusual charm when she had lifted her hands to her veil … lay there. Just now, though they regarded him coolly, he saw that they should naturally be very lovely eyes, soft, expressive, a seductive goddess-grey which could haunt a man with their tenderness or coax him to share in their mirth. He fancied from that moment that there were distinctly two of Miss Corliss, the one God made her, the one she was making herself. Amplifying that impression he hazarded the opinion that God could do a better job here than could Miss Corliss. There was nothing like letting good-enough alone. Her eyes, to conclude with them before his attention travelled elsewhere, she was forcing to appear matter-of-fact, business-like … cool. The thermic adjective on which he had hit at the beginning was the proper one. In it perhaps lay the key to an understanding of that rivalry between the young woman herself and the powers which had made her what she had found herself. That contest was one over the matter of soul-temperature. Steele's opinion … still tentative of course and precarious … was that her destiny at the outset had been one of warmth and sunniness, and that of her own volition she was reconstructing herself into a being who would rather freeze a man than thaw him. He remembered Booth Stanton's obvious discomfiture and chuckled reminiscently.
Miss Corliss was lifting her brows at him. He hastily noted that she was very young though so poised, that her mouth was made to be kissed though she did not suspect the fact, and at last spoke.
"I have discovered," said William Steele pleasantly, "the suspicion of a dimple."
He had wondered if her brows could go still higher. Now he knew that they could. He knew, too, that she could freeze a man quite as he had foreseen that she could. An ordinary man, that is, and fortunately now for his mental balance he was not an ordinary man. Over her head he caught an amazed stare from Bradford. Had this genial young man drawn a revolver from his pocket and levelled it at his hostess' head it is to be doubted if Bradford would have been more thunderstruck. Miss Corliss herself for the moment was speechless. Steele unfolded his napkin, selected his salad fork and smiled at her equably.
"Mr. Steele," said Miss Corliss icily, "I shall thank you if you will confine your remarks to what business lies between us."
"But, don't you see," cried Steele in vast, untroubled good humour, "that I have touched upon one of the most interesting points in the whole matter! Miss Corliss, last of her name, mistress of many millions, brain of her own big enterprises, heavy stockholder in a vast railroad system, queen of the Queen's Ranch, sole owner of the Little Giant gold mine, and-so-on for half a column, harbours a skeleton in her closet … and it is a dimple! Maybe two of them. That after all, though the public knows her only as a synonym of the power of wealth, she is just a thunderingly pretty girl! Big, soft grey eyes, red lips to tempt and trick and snare a man's soul … "
"Mr. Steele!"
She rose to her feet, her eyes no longer cool but suddenly blazing, the coolness gone out of her cheeks, too, to give place to the hot tide of swift anger.
"This is impertinence! Though you come as a stranger I have been willing to give you a few moments from a busy day supposing that you were as anxious as I to get through the necessary business which brings you here. If you propose merely to be insufferable, to forget that we are not even acquaintances and will never be more than that, it would be best to end our conversation now."
The words came trippingly, heady with passion.
"Dear me," said Steele, still unruffled. "I had no idea it was a crime to tell a girl she was pretty. We'll brand it lèse majesté," and his broadening smile came back with the words. "I'll consider myself properly rebuked and we'll pass on to safer territory. You see, I'm no ladies' man at all. Miss Corliss. Shall we let it go at that and try a fresh beginning?"
She stood looking at him a bit doubtfully, frowning a little, not quite certain how to take him. Finally, the most sensible thing seeming to be to sit down again, she resumed her place.
"I'll be glad, as I told you, to answer any pertinent questions."
"Pertinent is good," laughed Steele. "Well, that's fair at that. No kidding goes, eh? Now we'll begin by getting your name straight. Trixie, isn't it? Trixie Corliss?"
"No," said Miss Corliss emphatically. "It is not. It is Beatrice Corliss."
"How old?" was the next question. Steele's head was a little to one side, he had the air of a man appraising the age of a horse he meant to buy.
"Is that necessary?" asked the girl coldly.
"Essential!" he cried warmly. "What I want is to find the real you under the name, Beatrice Corliss; woman of affairs. I'd judge you at twenty-five."
"Twenty-one," said Miss Corliss aloofly. "Next November."
"Um," said Steele thoughtfully, though she was never sure that a grave expression did not mask a grin at her. "It takes big money interests to put in the fine lines, doesn't it? Next: How big a proposition have you at hand here?"
"Meaning just what, Mr. Steele?" she asked stiffly.
"The ranch. … By the way, it's called the Queen's Ranch, isn't it?"
"To answer your last question, yes."
"Just of late, I believe? It used to be known as Thunder River Ranch, didn't it?"
"Yes. To both questions."
"And it was to mark your coming that the name changed? Because of your … let me see; how shall I put it pertinently? … of your queenly appearance? Or queenly way of running things? Or both? Just why, Miss Corliss, please?"
The question was put with much grave innocence. Still she had the uneasy impression that he was making fun of her. She had known people to dislike her just as she had known people to fawn and curry favour; it had never entered her experience to have any one, least of all a man, make fun of her. Still she met his eyes steadily and without noticeable hesitation answered.
"I believe I have been called autocratic. It is my own ranch and I do what I please with it."
"I believe you," he agreed pleasantly. "Now the ranch; how many acres?"
"Something over thirty thousand, including mountain and timber lands. My manager, Booth Stanton, can give you such information as this. Even better than I."
"The land alone, then, is valued at close to half a million?"
"I value it at something over that."
"To the tax assessor or the press?"
"To the press," she said steadily, with no flicker of the smile he had fished for.
"Exclusive of the Little Giant mine?"
"Certainly."