She faced him squarely for a moment, and he met her eyes. They were grey, with tawny flecks, wide-open, clear and comprehending. "My father's Evan Lancaster," she explained.
"Lancaster—oh, he's traded at my store."
"That's him over there with Marylyn."
Lounsbury turned in his saddle and looked toward the shack. "Marylyn?" he said. "What a pretty name! Sounds like Maryland. How'd she——" He paused questioningly.
"Mother's name was Mary Lynn," she answered, her voice lowered. "So she just put it together."
"And yours?"
"Mine's Dallas. I was born in Texas."
He leaned back against his high cantle and smiled. "I could 'a' guessed that," he declared.
Again she coloured sensitively, and hastened to swing the team around until Betty stood in the furrow. "My father's coming," she said.
Instantly Lounsbury was all regret, for he saw that she had misunderstood him. "You don't look Texas," he said earnestly. "It's just the name. And—and I think Dallas is pretty, too."