He turned on himself in dismay. “What’s the matter with me?” he muttered.
“I think, monsieur,” said Jacqueline demurely, “that I have the guess.”
“You haven’t–you can’t guess either! I don’t know myself.”
“Just the same, I wish I knew so well my chances for heaven.”
“But you’re mistaken, I tell you. I’m not!”
“Not what, monsieur?”
“In, in–w’y, in love.”
Jacqueline’s laughter was the merriest peal. In the end 202he half grinned. Little use trying to convince the little witch! He had much to do convincing himself.
On the farther slope of a hill where coffee grew and the giant sheltering banana hid the road, they paused at a trail that crossed the highway and wound on down toward the Pánuco river, where tropical stuff for Tampico was transferred from burros to dugout barges. Jacqueline listened. There were no sounds of pursuit as yet, nor was there any one in sight. Making up her mind, she changed to the path. Driscoll followed, with a delight in this new leadership over him.
When they gained the river, she stopped again, and he did too.