“But I am hostess, sir. I do the honors. Pray do you your duty.”
“To our better acquaintance, then, madam,” I accepted. “In Benton.”
The cognac swept down my throat like a stab of hot oil. She poured for herself.
“A vôtre santé, monsieur—and continued beginnings, no ends.” She daintily tossed it off. 32
We had consummated our pledges just in time. The brakeman issued, stumping noisily and bringing discord into my heaven of blue and gold and comfortable warmth.
“Howdy, lady and gent? Breakfast in twenty minutes.” He grinned affably at her; yes, with a trace of familiarity. “Sleep well, madam?”
“Passably, thank you.” Her voice held a certain element of calm interrogation as if to ask how far he intended to push acquaintance. “We’re nearing Sidney, you say? Then I bid you gentlemen good-morning.”
With a darting glance at him and a parting smile for me she passed inside. The brakeman leaned for an instant’s look ahead, up the track, and lingered.
“Friend of yours, is she?”
“I met her at Omaha, is all,” I stiffly informed.