“Then you sit down here on the steps and eat candy until I come back,” she said as she poured the contents of her box into the child’s sombrero.
She ran lightly up the stairs to her room and closed the door before opening the note. It said only:
“Will you go to ride with me this afternoon up the canyon? I have something particular I want to say. Please send me word by the boy if I may come up at once.”
She devoured it with shining eyes, and pressed it to her face, her lips, her heart. Her woman’s instinct divined what the “something particular” must be, and she laughed softly and joyously, while the color mounted to her brow. But presently, as she donned her riding habit, her look grew serious and grave. For a few minutes she had forgotten what it was she had to do.
“I must tell him,” she thought, “and then that will be the end of everything.” The brown eyes filled with tears, and she choked back a little sob. “But I’ve got to do it,” she repeated with determination. “He won’t love me then, but poor daddy will be safe. And I wouldn’t marry him anyway, because I’m not going to marry anybody. I won’t let him say anything to me about—about anything; I’ll tell him about daddy before he has a chance. But I won’t have to tell him right away—when we are coming back, maybe.” Her fingers were busy with her collar in front of the mirror. “Dear me, I’m dreadfully tanned! But he told me once he liked the healthy brown skins the girls all get down here. No; I shall not let him have the least idea that I care anything about him; but—” and the smiles and dimples were chasing each other across her face as she started down the stairs. On her way she slipped softly into Miss Dent’s darkened room. Louise was awake, and Lucy stood beside her bed, stroking her forehead with affectionate fingers.
“Poor Dearie! Can’t I do something for you before I go out? Do you think you can sleep? Then you won’t mind my going, will you? Mr. Conrad has come to take me to ride. We are going up the canyon. Wasn’t it jolly of him to think of it this stupid, yellow afternoon?”
“Yes; certainly, dear, I’m glad you’re going, and I hope you’ll have a delightful ride. Don Homer is always so thoughtful.”
Lucy was settling her hat in front of the mirror. “Oh, it isn’t Don Homer! It’s his brother.”
Miss Dent started up. “Curtis Conrad! You’re not going with him!”
Lucy looked at her with surprise. “Why, yes, Dearie. Why not?”