Sheila laughed at him. His absolute cocksureness was too ridiculous. But in spite of herself she was impressed by the sincerity of his belief in himself. And she realized that opportunity was apt to knock at the door of a man who believed in his own capacity for success and let others know it.
"I probably make you tired," said Farwell. "You asked me, and I told you. I'm not worrying about my future. Now, let's talk about yours. You were away when I was here last week."
"Yes, I was over at Chakchak."
"That's Dunne's ranch. Your mother said you were helping him choose some things from a mail-order catalogue."
"Furniture, linen, dishes, and a lot of other things." There was no embarrassment in her tone.
"Oh!" said Farwell; and as he uttered the word it resembled a growl. "Well, when is it to be?"
"When is what to be?"
"Why, the wedding, of course."
"What wedding?" She laid down her work and stared at him. Then she laughed, though the colour surged to her cheeks. "Oh, I see. You think I was choosing these things for Mr. Dunne's prospective bride?"
"Of course."