"Oh, that"—Sheila dismissed the warm praise with a wave of her brown hand—"why, it wasn't anything; only a wet ride in the dark. If my horse had kept his feet it would have been all right. I simply had to come. Don't try to make me think myself a heroine. You'd do the same thing yourself for a friend."
"I'm afraid I couldn't. I'm not much of a rider, and I couldn't have found my way in the dark."
"Well, that's no credit to me. I've been riding all my life, and I know every foot of this country. Of course, I'd do anything for Casey or Tom."
"Yes," said Clyde, "they both think a great deal of you, I know."
"No more than I think of them—especially Casey. Some day I suppose he'll get married, and then I'll have to call him 'Mr. Dunne.'"
"That won't be necessary."
"Oh, yes, it will. His wife wouldn't stand for 'Casey.'"
"Yes, she will," said Clyde. Sheila turned and looked at her keenly. "We are going to be married," Clyde added.
"You don't mean it!" Sheila exclaimed. "Well, you are a lucky girl, if you don't mind my saying so. Casey's white. I congratulate you with all my heart. And he's lucky, too; yes, he is."
"You—you don't mind?" Clyde ventured. She thought it quite possible that Sheila might care for Casey, although convinced that he did not love her.