"Then there's no chance for me to get a drink, I suppose," said Rossiter with a wry smile.
"Do you need one?" asked Miss Dering saucily.
"I have a headache."
"A pick-me-up is what you want," said Dudley coldly.
"My dear sir, I haven't been drunk," remonstrated Rossiter sharply. His hearers laughed and he turned red but cold with resentment.
"See, Mr. Rollins, I have smoothed out your clothes and folded them," she said, pointing to her one-time couch. "I couldn't pack them in your trunk because you were sitting on it. Shall I help you now?"
"No, I thank you," he said ungraciously. "I can toss 'em in any old way."
He set about doing it without another word. His companions stood over near the window and conversed earnestly in words too low for him to distinguish. From the corner of his eye he could see that Dudley's face was hard and uncompromising, while hers was eager and imploring. The man was stubbornly objecting to something, and she was just as decided in an opposite direction.
"He's finding fault and she's trying to square it with him. Oh, my beauties, you'll have a hard time to shake off one Samuel Rossiter. They're suspicious—or he is, at least. Some one has tipped me off to them, I fancy."
"I'm sorry they are so badly mussed, Mr. Rollins, but they did make a very comfortable bed," she said, walking over to him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were gleaming. "You are going to Eagle Nest to-day?"