“I thought you were never going to get here!”
The Girl shot a coquettish glance at him.
“How did you know I was comin’ on this ’ere stage?”
“I did not know,”—the stranger broke off and thought a moment. He may have been asking himself whether it were best for him to be as frank as she had been and admit his admiration for her; at last, encouraged perhaps by a look in the Girl’s blue eyes, he ventured: “But I’ve been riding along this road every day since I saw you. I felt that I must see you again.”
“You must like me powerful well...?” This remark, far from being a question, was accompanied with all the physiognomical evidences of an assertion.
The stranger shot a surprised glance at her, out of the corner of his eye. Then he admitted, in all truthfulness:
“Of course I do. Who could help...?”
“Have you tried not to?” questioned the Girl, smiling in his face now, and enjoying in the full this stolen intimacy.
“Ah, Señorita, why should I...? All I know is that I do.”
The Girl became reflective; presently she observed: