“Sometimes the autumn heat is the worst. Besides, it is all arranged. We begin to-morrow. You heard too, then, what Mr. Rickard said about not wanting women in camp?”
“No, I did not! But to be here without doing anything, just being one more mouth to feed, and head to cover—I’d feel more comfortable,” she added.
“He gave it out in the towns that he did not want men’s wives or families following them to the Heading. He made an exception for Mrs. Parrish—she was too timid to leave, and Mrs. Dowker, and, of course, it was different with me.”
Innes felt uncomfortable.
“It’s all right being with Tom,” she began.
“Why is it all right? Who am I?” He lifted his eyes from his plate. It came home to Innes that it was not his camp any longer. She thought, then, that she would go back to Los Angeles the next week.
She expected to hear a protest to the new arrangement from Tom. She was to see a new development—sullen resignation. If he would accept it, she must not argue. Both sister and brother knew why it was too warm to cook any longer. Gerty found them both dull.
“That poor Mexican.” She remembered Estrada’s concern. “The one who went mad? Have you heard how he was?”
“Dead. The peons are all stampeding.”
“Who’s stampeding?” Gerty came back from a deep reverie. Lavender, it had just been decided, was to be the color of the next frock. It was cool and not too positive. She must remember to send out for samples that day. She could not recall having heard Rickard express himself about colors. She wondered if he had preferences or aversions to shades. He must like green; she remembered he had admired that mandarin skirt. “And if the lavender fades, I can rinse it in purple ink.”