"Didn't I hear you arranging some sort of a musical programme with Mr. Darrell?" he inquired.
"Yes; what has that to do with your engagement?" she queried.
"Nothing whatever; only you carry out your engagement and I will mine, and we'll compare notes afterwards."
For an instant her face sobered; then catching sight of her father's eyes twinkling under their beetling brows, she laughingly withdrew from his side, saying,—
"That's all very well; you can score one this time, papa, but don't you think we won't come out pretty near even in the end!"
Upon learning from Darrell that the violin she expected him to use was in his room at the mining camp, she then proposed a stroll to the summit of the pine-clad mountain for the following afternoon, and having secured his promise that he would bring the violin with him on his next visit, she waltzed gayly across the floor, turned on the light, and seating herself at the piano soon had the room ringing with music and laughter while she sang a number of college songs.
To Darrell she seemed more child than woman, and he was constantly impressed with her unlikeness to her father or aunt. She seemed to have absolutely none of their self-repression. Warm-hearted, sympathetic, and demonstrative, every shade of feeling betrayed itself in her sensitive, mobile face and in the brown eyes, one moment pensive and wistful, the next luminous with sympathy or dancing with merriment.
As Darrell took leave of Mrs. Dean that night, he said, looking frankly into her calm, kindly face,—
"I am very sorry if I wounded your feelings this afternoon; it was wholly unintentional, I assure you."