"Quite possibly."
"Do not return this afternoon," he continued as she backed away from him. "This mountain air is exhausting at first——"
"Your letters?" she queried with an expression that approached pleasant irony.
"They may wait."
She courtesied quaintly. He had never seen such a woman in his life, and as his eyes fixed on her down the dim hall he was overpowered by the grace of her vanishing figure.
Sitting at his table he was still thinking of her when Solomon, the messenger, came in with a telegram. The boy sat down opposite the engineer, while the latter read the message.
"That Miss Brock is fine, isn't she?"
Glover scowled. "I took a despatch over to the car yesterday and she gave me a dollar," continued Solomon.
"What car?"
"Her car. She's in that Pittsburg party."