“No; men like Kurt don’t get over anything like that. I know what it is to love without hope. I am sorry for Kurt. You’ll be sorry for him, too, some day.”
She had come close to the car, and he looked into her eyes as he said impressively:
“He loved you from that very first night.”
“That very first night!” she echoed. “Not surely on that ride from town—from jail to Top Hill! Why, he fairly hated me then!”
“You’re not hep to Kurt,” he declared. “He said to me in just these words: ‘I have loved her since that first night I saw her, when we camped on the trail—when she lay asleep in the moonlight.’”
After making this enlightening remark, he motored away, while Pen stood motionless with the shock of amazement in her eyes.
When Larry returned on the early east-bound, he found Pen on the veranda of the little inn.
“Why, Pen!” he exclaimed. “Is this a stay-up late, or a get-up early?”
“Both, Larry. I couldn’t sleep. I am still thinking of our flight up—where I found myself.”