“True, Fanny! But you always were equal to an army in yourself, and now you are equal to two—which is only another way of saying that you grow more fascinating every day. And now I think you might be gracious enough to tell me what you’re talking about.”
“Why, Ned, I’m afraid Miss Bancroft didn’t enjoy it any more than Lena. I wasn’t quite sure of it until this morning; but I really think, Ned, that Lena would have been left out in the cold just the same if I hadn’t—hadn’t helped Mr. Conrad entertain the people quite so much.”
Castleton laughed. “Oh, I begin to see! You are feeling the pangs of remorse because you’ve been putting snags in the course of true love. But you needn’t worry, dear. Curt isn’t the sort of man, if he cares anything about her, to let a little thing like that make any difference.”
“But he’ll be too busy with you to go over to Golden and see her again for a long time, won’t he?”
“Oh, we can get through this week, I think.”
“Good! Then we can leave on Saturday, and on Sunday he can gallop over to Golden, and by that time she’ll want awfully to see him and she’ll be very sorry she flirted so outrageously with Don Homer. And next Fall we’ll send them a wedding present, and they’ll come to see us on their wedding journey,—she’s a dear, sweet girl, Ned, and I like her,—and I’ll explain to her why I—why I helped Mr. Conrad make things pleasant at the barbecue, and we’ll have a jolly laugh over it. There he is now, Ned! Do go right along and begin your work, so we’ll be sure to leave on Saturday.”
When Conrad bade the Castletons good-bye at the railway station at the end of the week, Francisquita said to him:
“When you see that pretty Miss Bancroft again—” here she gave him a significant glance and then demurely lowered her eyes—“please tell her that I hope to see her again, and that if she ever comes to San Francisco she must let me know—you can give her our address. We’d be delighted, Ned and I, to help her have a good time. She’s a dear, lovely girl and I’d really like to know her better.”
Curtis drove home, declaring to himself that Mrs. Ned was one of the most charming women he knew. He would ride over to Golden to-morrow afternoon and deliver her message. He lingered fondly over the image of Lucy’s slender figure standing at the top of her veranda steps and smiling upon him a gay and gracious welcome, and a strong desire rose in his heart to know just how glad she really would be to see him. But the recollection of his plans for the ensuing week came crashing through his pleasant thoughts like a runaway horse through a flower garden. For a moment the purpose that held his life in thrall seemed strangely unworthy. But presently he jammed his hat down on his head and, with compressed lips, said savagely to himself: