"May I say you're stunning?"
"Flatterer, comforter," she laughed. "But I'm dreadfully in need of it. I've been—been crying!"
"Yes," he murmured, "I remember; you must have been. Shall I go back with you as far as Bob's gate?"
"No; it is almost in sight, and you're as late as I. Why do you say you remember?—that I must have been?"
"Because you just now told me you had been," he smiled again.
"Brent," she leaned over and looked very seriously into his face, "don't temporize. I'm not in the humor for it! I heard about—something today, and I want to tell you that you're—that you're splendid!"
"What about?" There was no feigned surprise in his question.
"Oh," she clapped her hands as a delighted child might have done, "he doesn't know that Tusk is alive!" But added gravely: "Suppose he'd been dead, Brent!"
He turned away; afraid, in this surprise and strange giddiness which was enveloping him, to trust himself to speak. There ensued a longer pause, broken by her wistful voice asking: "Why did you, Brent?"
"Oh, I was just having a little fun with Dale," he answered casually. "Hurry, it's late! I'll race you to Bob's gate—and leave you!"