“Not of him, madam.”
“And of me?”
“I think I’m more afraid for you,” I confessed. “That clown is getting insufferable. He sets out to bully you. Damn him,” I flashed, with pardonable flame, “and he ruffles at me on every occasion. In fact, he seems to seek occasion. Witness this evening.”
“Witness this evening,” she murmured. “I’m afraid, too. Yes,” she breathed, confronted by a portent, “I’m afraid. I never have been afraid before. I didn’t fear Montoyo. I’ve always been able to take care of myself. But now, here——”
“You have your revolver?” I suggested.
“No, I haven’t. It’s gone. Mormon women don’t carry revolvers.”
“They took it from you?”
“It’s disappeared.”
“But you’re not a Mormon woman.”
“Not yet.” She caught quick breath. “God forbid. And sometimes I fear God willing. For I do fear. You can’t understand. Those other men do, though, I think. Do you know,” she queried, with sudden glance, “that Daniel means to marry me?”