“I was thinking of another story, Joan.”
“Of another girl,” she said, perhaps a trifle resentfully. At least Mackenzie thought he read a resentful note in the quick rejoinder, a resentful flash of color in her cheek.
“Yes, but a mighty old girl, Joan,” he confessed, smiling with a feeling of lightness around his heart.
“Somebody you used to know?” face turned away, voice light in a careless, artificial note.
“She was a sheepman’s daughter,” he said.
“Did you know her down at Jasper?”
“No, I never knew her at all, Rach––Joan. That was a long, long time ago.”
Joan brightened at this news. She ceased denying him her face, even smiled a little, seeming to forget Hector Hall and his pending vengeance.
“Well, what about her?” she asked.