"Yet, in spite of all this to occupy and amuse you, you want to turn your back on it all."
"I—what?"
"I understand you are thinking of running away."
Val gave a little gasp, and prayed the dusty road might gape and swallow her.
"I—I—"
"Don't be frightened, and don't be sorry that I know," he said, gently. "I think you ought to have told me before."
She ventured to lift a pair of very anxious eyes.
"I don't blame you. You are an unfortunate child."
"Child? I am in my sixteenth year," she interposed, with dignity.
"You are an unfortunate child," he repeated, firmly, "with a great deal of surplus energy. It must go somewhere. It's a law of nature; only I hadn't quite realized how it was with you. You never seemed at a loss."