“Oh, I know! Camping. But you don’t mean to-day?”
“Sure!”
“But why didn’t you ask us?” demanded Claire. “Maybe we don’t choose––”
“But you do, though. I promised Marion that as soon as I––”
He stopped, for even his habitually veiled eyes could not miss the look of consternation on Marion’s face.
“Why––I thought––” he began uncertainly. “Of course, if you don’t want to go––”
The oiled rag dropped from his hand. His descent 122 from elation (he had planned a little surprise) to dejection and chagrin was a tumble that touched Marion’s commiseration and disarmed her. She did not want to go camping; she did not want to leave the Park for even a day, an hour; she did not want to miss any opportunity to see Haig. More than ever now was she determined to solve his mystery. So Huntingdon’s “surprise” was a greater shock to her than he, simple man, could possibly have foreseen or perceived. But even if she had not been moved by his rather ludicrous disappointment she would not have dared to refuse acquiescence in his programme. She had indeed expressed an ardent––oh, too ardent!––desire to go camping, and any explanation she could think of on the instant would have led her into regions where she could not trust herself.
“Indeed, I want to go!” she cried quickly, though there was a big lump in her throat. “You took me by surprise, that’s all.”
“I should say so!” said Claire. “Think you’re smart, don’t you? We might have been all dressed for it if you’d only told us. When do we start, Big Boss?”
Huntington recovered his good spirits quickly, assured that he had succeeded after all.