If she laughed it was to cover the perturbation that her eyes betrayed. Lockwood had half expected it, but he was appalled.
“So I’m afraid this will have to be our last ride,” she added soberly.
“Our last? Never!” he ejaculated. “It mustn’t be. I’ve a thousand things to say to you—things I haven’t told you yet—important things!”
It seemed to him suddenly that he had wasted all these hours of golden opportunity. He should have told her his story. Some time she would have to know it. It would be better to tell her himself, before the catastrophe broke.
“Let’s turn back. Make it another hour, if this is to be the last,” he pleaded, drawing up close beside her and extending his hand.
She put his hand aside and motioned silently ahead. They had come back near the road. Through a screen of tall gallberry he saw something that stood still and glittered in the sun. The trail turned, and he saw the Powers’ car drawn up almost to block the opening of the way, and Tom was leaning with both arms on the wheel and staring toward them.
They were too close to turn back. He had seen them.
“Try to come up the bayou—in the motor boat—early any forenoon!” Lockwood tossed to Louise under his breath. He did not know whether she had heard him. She had turned very pale, sitting stiffly in the saddle and gazing straight ahead at her brother. Lockwood thought they must both have looked extremely guilty as they rode up to the standing car.
Tom gave them a sullen grim look.
“You ride straight on home, sis!” he commanded. “I’ve got to have a talk with Mr. Lockwood here.”