On Harlan’s face was a slow, genial grin.
“Sunnin’ yourself, eh?” he said. “Well, it’s a mighty nice day—not too hot. Have you knowed him long?”
The startling irrelevance of the question caused Barbara to gaze sharply at Harlan, and when their eyes met she noted that his were twinkling with a light that she could not fathom. She hated him when she could not understand him.
“Mr. Haydon, do you mean?” she questioned, a sudden coldness in her voice.
Harlan nodded.
“A little more than a year, I think. It was just after I returned from school, at Denver.”
He watched her, saying lowly:
“So it was Denver. I’d been wonderin’. I knowed it must have been some place. Schoolin’ is a thing that I never had time to monkey with—I reckon my folks didn’t believe a heap in ’em.”
“You’ve lived in the West all your life—you were born in the West, I suppose?”
He looked keenly at her. “I expect you knowed that without askin’. I’ve been wonderin’ if it would have made any difference.”