“Mr. Smythe wants me to go for a ride with him,” she said, advancing smilingly. “We can start to-morrow on the shooting trip, can’t we, Cousin Seth?”
She had not often called him “Cousin Seth” of late; and he was delighted.
“Well,” he said reflectively, “I’d rather planned starting to-day, but if to-morrow suits you better it’s all right, Marion. Go along with your young man!”
Claire was studying her anxiously, and Marion hastened to disarm her.
“Thank you, Seth!” she said. “You see, I’m not feeling quite myself this morning––such a night I had! A short ride will be about all I’m good for. I’ll feel better to-morrow.”
“Well, then, dear,” said Claire, “you’ll not be gone long, will you?”
“Don’t worry!” was the evasive reply. “Mr. Smythe will take good care of me.”
On that she kissed Claire, nodded brightly to Huntington, and hurried away. Almost running in her eagerness, she led the way to the stable, where two horses stood saddled, with rifles in leather cases hanging from the saddlebows, and bundles strapped behind. Smythe started to remove the gun from Tuesday’s saddle.
“No, leave it there!” commanded Marion.
“Certainly. But why?” asked Smythe.