"Yes," she told the horizon; and after a little silence added: "The time has come to play another part?"
She asked the question of the horizon, without any trace of the old banter over the wall. She asked it in confirmation of a commonplace.
"I know that you have always thought of me as playing a part. But I am not my own master. I must go. I—"
"Back to your millions!" She finished the sentence for him.
"Then you—you knew! You knew!" But his exclamation of astonishment did not move her to a glance in his direction or even a tremor.
"Yes," she went on. "Father told me about your millions last night. He has known from the first who you were."
"And he told no one else in Little Rivers? He never mentioned it to me or even to you before!"
"Why should he when you did not mention it yourself? His omission was natural delicacy, in keeping with your own attitude. Isn't it part of the custom of Little Rivers that pasts melt into the desert? There is no standard except the conduct of the present!"
And all this speech was in a monotone of quiet explanation.
"He did not even tell you until last night! Until after our meeting on the other side of the pass! It is strange! strange!" he repeated in the insistence of wonder.