All this time Marjorie said nothing, for she knew that John preferred to work unmolested, if possible. But although she was quiet, he was by no means unaware of her presence, and before he had finished, he secured her promise to go for a little walk with him before supper.
When the young men had finally completed their work, and John had made his test to his own satisfaction, they listened eagerly for the first message. To the delight of everyone, it came soon—a weather report from Denver. After that there was a most entertaining concert.
“It certainly is nice that more than one person can hear at one time,” remarked Arthur. “It was clever of you Girl Scouts to think of ordering this kind.”
“Clever of Kirk!” corrected Marjorie, always desirous of giving credit where credit was due.
John glanced hastily at the young man whom Marjorie had praised, trying to ascertain whether he cared much about the tribute. But apparently Kirk had paid little or no attention to it, for he was explaining something to Arthur.
Shortly after five o’clock John met Marjorie in front of the cabin, and they started for their walk. Both were secretly excited; there was so much to talk about, to clear up, before they could get back to their old intimate terms. But both hesitated to make the conversation personal, and for ten minutes or more they discussed the radio, the ranch, and the Girl Scout troop. At last Marjorie spoke of themselves.
“I got your letter, John,” she said. “And I was going to answer it, but——”
“But you had a good many other things to think about. Well, I understand!” His tone was a trifle bitter.
Marjorie looked at him resentfully. What right had he to tease her, even thus subtly, about other men, when he had spent his summer dancing and flirting with another girl? She was about to make a retort, when she stopped suddenly, and asked instead how long he intended to stay.
“I don’t know,” he answered; “that depends upon—circumstances.”