Mary Hope had gone just so far in her analysis when Lance turned his head abruptly, unexpectedly, and looked full into her eyes.
“Don’t be afraid, girl. Don’t worry about the lie––about anything. It was a sweet little lie––it makes you just human and young and––sweet. Let them scold you, and smile, ’way down deep in your heart, and be glad you’re human enough to tell a lie now and then. Because if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be driving all these miles together to save you a little of the scolding. Be happy. Be just a little bit happy to-night, won’t you, girl––you lonely little girl––with the blue, blue eyes!”
There it was again, that vibrant, caressing note in his voice. It was there in his eyes while he looked at her, on his lips while he spoke to her. But the next moment he looked ahead at the trail, spoke to Rosa who had flung her head around to 171 bite pettishly at Subrosa, who snapped back at her.
Mary Hope turned her face to the starlit rangeland. Again she breathed quickly, fought back tears, fought the feeling that she had been kissed. All through the silent ride that followed she fought the feeling, knew that it was foolish, that Lance knew nothing whatever about that look, that tone which so affected her. He did not speak again. He sat beside her, and she felt that he was thinking about her, felt that his heart was making love to her––hated herself fiercely for the feeling, fought it and felt it just the same.
“It’s just a way he has with him!” she told herself bitterly, when he swung the team up in front of the section house and helped her down. “He’d have the same way with him if he spoke to a––a rabbit! He doesna mean it––he doesna know and he doesna care!”
“Thank you, Mr. Lorrigan. It was very kind of you to bring me.” Her voice was prim and very Scotch, and gave no hint of all she had been thinking.
“I’m always kind––to myself,” laughed Lance, and lifted his hat and drove away.