Soon after, the girl came in. “Well!” she said quietly, yet with a touch of defiance in her voice, and facing Broom boldly. Her eyes were wide and flashing, her lips compressed. She looked at him in a manner which despite himself caused him to feel somewhat abashed and his face to crimson.
The fellow seemed too confused to speak for a moment. Then: “I’ve been asking your father for you, Kasba,” he said, somewhat brusquely, as if intending to carry off the matter with a high hand.
The girl displayed no surprise. She looked him squarely in the face for a moment, then: “Do you mean that you wish to marry me?” she asked with rather marked emphasis.
“Well, I would; but I can’t, very well,” he explained. “I’d do it fast enough, but there ain’t any parson here. I reckon you’d think a sky-pilot necessary—” He paused and looked at her searchingly.
But she would not help him. She stood grimly silent, gazing at him with an inscrutable face.
He shifted uneasily under the intensity of her gaze. Her attitude stirred his wrath. Who in the world was she that she should put on airs? She had been spoilt. Just because she was pretty she had been petted and made much of! But—just wait! D—— her!
“Still we could get married—” he continued, as she did not speak.
The girl’s lip curled, and he left the sentence unfinished.
“According to native custom,” she finished scornfully. “Oh!” There was great significance in the exclamation. She threw back her head proudly, and her nostrils widened. She surveyed him from head to foot in one sweeping glance of contempt.
Broom smiled. It was a disagreeable smile and his brows lowered. There came an unpleasant glint in his eye.