The second event in her life had been of more recent date: Brent.
As old Zack now neared the ramshackle house, he saw her leaning over the crooked gate. Not infrequently of late he had carried a note to her, and he rather felt that she might be looking for one today.
She smiled, showing a really exquisite line of teeth between lips full and inviting. Her mouth was large, as though Nature, realizing her possession of one exceptional quality, had made the most of it. Around her neck hung a simple garnet pendant which Zack had noticed only in the last few days; and now, as she stood with chin up-tilted, the sunlight struck this stone sending a soft, crimson gleam of dull fire across the white skin below her throat.
"Mawnin', Miss Nancy," he made a perfunctory bow.
"Good mornin', Uncle Zack."
"How's yoh folks?" the old man asked. It was warm, he was weary of the ride and wanted to talk.
"They're well, thanks." She did not ask after those at Arden.
He folded his hands on the pummel and let his feet slip out of the uncertain rope stirrups. Sitting thus relaxed, for a moment he looked meditatively at the old mule's drooping ears, then reached in his pocket, brought out a red handkerchief of the bandanna type and wiped his brow. He had something to tell her—she knew this! But she knew, too, from experience that when he brought a message he must take his own time about delivering it.
"Dat's a mighty spry gemmen over to our house," he finally remarked.