"I know," he said, "what you think. I'm a fine specimen of a man to send on a hunt like that. A weak-kneed mollycoddle who passes into a state of coma at the crucial moment. But—I'm going to give you that package yet."
The girl turned her head. Mr. Magee saw that her eyes were misty with tears.
"You're playing with me," she said brokenly. "I might have known. And I trusted you. You're in the game with the others—and I thought you weren't. I staked my whole chance of success on you—now you're making sport of me. You never intended to give me that money—you don't intend to now."
"On my word," cried Magee, "I do intend to give it to you. The minute we get back to the inn. I have it safe in my room."
"Give it to her," said the girl bitterly. "Why don't you give it to her?"
Oh, the perversity of women!
"It's you I want to give it to," replied Magee warmly. "I don't know what was the matter with me last night. I was a fool. You don't believe in me, I know—" Her face was cold and expressionless.
"And I wanted to believe in you—so much," she said.
"Why did you want to?" cried Magee. "Why?"
She plodded on through the snow.