"You needn't be. She hadn't the remotest idea where it went."
Her merriment, joining with his, brought them suddenly together in a feeling of good fellowship.
"So you don't like divided thanks," she commented gaily.
"Not when they are undeserved," he answered, "as they are in this case."
For a moment she was silent; then going slowly back to the gate, she turned there and looked at him wonderingly, he thought.
"After all, it must have been a good wind that blew you to Tappahannock," she observed.
Her friendliness—which impressed him as that of a creature who had met no rebuffs or disappointments from human nature, made an impetuous, almost childlike, appeal to his confidence.
"Do you remember the night I slept in your barn?" he asked suddenly.
She bent down to pick up a broken spray of lilac.
"Yes, I remember."