Brusque, businesslike, she was as different from the girl who had clung to Hugh for love and sympathy as could well be imagined.
They had breakfast together in the cook tent, which in the summer camp was used as a dining tent also. It was while she was standing by the stove that she turned suddenly and said impulsively:
“Do you know, Hughie, I love to cook, this morning, and ordinarily I hate it! It’s because it’s for you—isn’t it curious?” Her eyes were shining with a look of love that was warm and generous; then the tears filled them and she turned her back quickly.
“If I hadn’t the same feeling about you, I might think so,” he responded. “I’m simply aching to do something for you—to help you in some way—that’s what I came for.”
“Did you—really?” She looked at him gratefully.
“That—and because I couldn’t stay away any longer. All the way up the trail I had a feeling that you had hold of my heartstrings pulling me to you, and as if they would break if I didn’t get to you faster. I can’t describe it exactly, but it was as real as an actual physical sensation.”
She looked her understanding, though she made no response.
When breakfast was over and they had washed the dishes together in a silence which each felt momentous, Kate said finally:
“You’d better tack a shoe on your horse before you go. If you don’t know how, I’ll show you.” He took her hand and looked at her searchingly:
“Is that my answer?”