“YOU ARE GOING TO MARRY ME—SOME DAY. THAT’S WHAT I THINK OF YOU!”
She got to her feet, her cheeks flaming, confused, half-frightened, though a fierce exultation surged within her. She had half expected this, half dreaded it, and now that it had burst upon her in such volcanic fashion she realized that she had not been entirely prepared. She sought refuge in banter, facing him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dancing.
“‘Firebrand,’” she said. “The name fits you—Mr. Carson was right. I warned you—if you remember—that you placed too much dependence on brawn and fire. You are making it very hard for me to see you again.”
He had risen too, and stood before her, and he now laughed frankly.
“I told you I couldn’t play the hypocrite. I have said what I think. I want you. But that doesn’t mean that I am going to carry you away to the mountains. I’ve got it off my mind, and I promise not to mention it again—until you wish it. But don’t forget that some day you are going to love me.”
“How marvelous,” said she, tauntingly, though in her confusion she could not meet his gaze, looking downward. “How do you purpose to bring it about?”
“By loving you so strongly that you can’t help yourself.”
“With your confidence—” she began. But he interrupted, laughing:
“We’re going to forget it, now,” he said. “I promised to show you that Pueblo, and we’ll have just about time enough to make it and back to the Bar B before dark.”
And they rode away presently, chatting on indifferent subjects. And, keeping his promise, he said not another word about his declaration. But the girl, stealing glances at him, wondered much—and reached no decision.