He stood up suddenly, and drawing her with him, held her closely until he felt her self-control giving way. When he kissed her again, she put up her arms and clung to him, and kissed him for the first time. He knew then, whatever her reason for suggesting such a compact, or her ultimate purpose, that she loved him.
The mighty blast of a horn echoed among the hills and cliffs. Nina sprang from Thorpe’s arms.
“That is one of papa’s jokes,” she said. “It isn’t the horn of the hunter, but of the farmer. Come, supper is ready. Oh, dear!” She clapped her hands to her head. “I can’t go up with my hair looking like this. I can just see the polaric disgust of the Hathaway orbs; it goes through one like blue needles. And then the malicious snap of Mrs. Earle’s, and the faint amusement of Mrs. McLane’s. And I’ve lost my hairpins! And I never—never—can get to my tent unseen. I’m living with ’Lupie and Molly, and they’re sure to be late—on purpose; I hate women—Here! Braid it. Don’t tell me you can’t! You must!”
She presented her back to Thorpe, who was clumsily endeavouring to adapt himself to her mood. The discipline of the last six weeks stood him in good stead.
“Upon my word!” he exclaimed, in dismay, “I never braided a woman’s hair in my life.”
“Quick! Divide it in three strands—even—then one over the other—Oh, an idiot could braid hair! Tighter. Ow! Oh, you are so clumsy.”
“I know it,” humbly. “But it clings to my fingers. I believe you have it charged with electricity. It doesn’t look very even.”
“I don’t imagine it does. But it feels as if it would do. Half way down will be enough—”
“Hallo!” came Hastings’s voice from the top of the hill. “Are you two lost in a quicksand?”