"I beg your pardon, Frances——" Chaos and I were one. Whatever was it I was to say about stars?
"Well?" There was a waiting in the voice.
"Yes—you know—Frances." I tried to call up something coherent; but somehow the thumping of my heart set up a rattling in my head.
"No—Rufus. As a matter of fact, I don't know. You were going to tell me something."
"Bother my stupidity, Miss—Miss—Frances, but the mastiff's forgotten what it was going to bow-wow about!"
"Not the moon this time," she laughed. "Speaking of stars," and she gave me back my own words.
"Oh! Yes! Speaking of stars! Do you know I think a lot of the men coming up from Fort William got to regarding the star above the leading canoe as their own particular star."
I thought that speech a masterpiece. It would convince her she was the star of all the men, not mine particularly. That was true enough to appease conscience, a half-truth like Louis Laplante's words. So I would rob my foolish avowal of its personal element. A flush suffused the snowy white below her hair.
"Oh! I didn't notice any particular star above the leading canoe. There were so very, very many splendid stars, I used to watch them half the night!"
That answer threw me as far down as her manner had elated me.