With a curious laugh, she dashed the blind-tassel against the window. It was not for the sake of hearing of her that he wanted the mails. With a sudden impulse she crossed the room and stood opposite him.
"Do you care that," she asked, snapping her fingers, "for any soul alive? You're delighted to leave us all and go to Omofaga!"
Willie Ruston seemed not to hear; he was mentally organizing the mail service from Omofaga.
"I beg pardon?" he said, after a perceptible pause.
"Oh!" cried Maggie Dennison, and at last her tone caught his attention.
He looked up with a wrinkle of surprise on his brow.
"Why," said he, "I believe you're angry about something. You look just as you did on—on the memorable occasion."
"Uh, we aren't all Carlins!" she exclaimed, carried away by her feelings.
The least she had expected from him was grateful thanks; a homage tinged with admiration was, in truth, no more than her due; if she had been an ugly dull woman, yet she had done him a great service, and she was not an ugly dull woman. But then neither was she Omofaga.
"If everybody was as good a fellow as old Carlin——" began Willie Ruston.