“Oh, sure!”
Nevertheless, the faithful guardian of the Girl’s interests sent a startled glance of inquiry about the room, and again asked:
“All right, eh?”
The Girl ignored the implication contained in the other’s glance, and answered “Yep,” in such a tone of finality that Nick, reassured at last, began to put things ship-shape for the night. This took but a moment or two, however, and then he quietly disappeared.
“Well, Mr. Johnson, it seems to be us a-keepin’ house here to-night, don’t it?” said the Girl, alone now with the road agent.
Her observation might easily have been interpreted as purposely introductory to an intimate scene, notwithstanding that it was made in a thoroughly matter-of-fact tone and without the slightest trace of coquetry. But Johnson did not make the mistake of misconstruing her words, puzzled though he was to find a clue to them. His curiosity about her was intense, and it showed plainly in the voice that said presently:
“Isn’t it strange how things come about? Strange that I should have looked everywhere for you and in the end find you here—at The Polka.”
Johnson’s emphasis on his last words sent a bright red rushing over her, colouring her neck, her ears and her broad, white forehead.
“Anythin’ wrong with The Polka?”
Johnson was conscious of an indiscreet remark; nevertheless he ventured: