Scott, turning to her, touched his hat as if quite unaware until that moment of her existence. 275 “Did Mr. de Spain get off this train?” she asked, as Scott acknowledged his identity.
“I didn’t see him. I guess he didn’t come to-night.” Nan noticed the impassive manner of his speaking and the low, even tones. “I was kind of looking for him myself.”
“Is there another train to-night he could come on?”
“I don’t think he will be back now before to-morrow night.”
Nan, much disappointed, looked up the line and down. “I rode in this afternoon from Music Mountain especially to see him.” Scott, without commenting, smiled with understanding and encouragement, and Nan was so filled with anxiety that she welcomed a chance to talk to somebody. “I’ve often heard him speak of you,” she ventured, searching the dark eyes, and watching the open, kindly smile characteristic of the man. Scott put his right hand out at his side. “I’ve ridden with that boy since he was so high.”
“I know he thinks everything of you.”
“I think a lot of him.”
“You don’t know me?” she said tentatively.
His answer concealed all that was necessary. “Not to speak to, no.”
“I am Nan Morgan.”