He was a man of quick temper, and had the Western ideas of
redress. Perhaps even now she was precipitating a duel between them. Her
cheeks grew wan again, her breath came quickly, tears gathered in her
eyes. Oh, she was a dreadful girl, she knew it; she was an utterly
miserable one, and she knew that too!
The reins were tightened. The pace lessened and at last fell to a walk.
Conscious of her telltale eyes and troubled face, she dared not turn to
her companion to ask him why, but glanced across the fields.
"When you first came I didn't get to know your name, Miss Mallory, but I
reckon I know your father."
Her father! What made him say that? She wanted to speak, but she
felt she could not. In another moment, if he went on, she must do
SOMETHING--she would cry!
"I reckon you'll be wanting to go to the hotel first, anyway?"
There!--she knew it! He WOULD keep on! And now she had burst into tears.
The mare was still walking slowly; the man was lazily bending forward
over the shafts as if nothing had occurred.
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