"No."
"Twice, then? Think hard; there must have been at least two little quickenings of the heartbeats in all that time."
"No."
"Still no? That reduces it to one—the charming Miss Dawson——"
"You might spare her, even if you are not willing to spare me. You know well enough there has never been any one but you, Eleanor; that there never will be any one but you."
The train was passing the western confines of the waterless tract, and a cool breeze from the snowcapped Timanyonis was sweeping across the open platform. It blew strands of the red-brown hair from beneath the closely fitting travelling-hat; blew color into Miss Brewster's cheeks and a daring brightness into the laughing eyes.
"What a pity!" she said in mock sympathy.
"That I can't measure up to your requirements of the perfect man? Yes, it is a thousand pities," he agreed.
"No; that isn't precisely what I meant. The pity is that I seem to you to be unable to appreciate your many excellencies and your—constancy."
"I think you were born to torment me," he rejoined gloomily. "Why did you come out here with your father? You must have known that I was here."