The red sunset burned in front of them with the edge of the plain cutting against it in a hard, straight line. Above the lurid glow the wide arch of sky shone a vivid green, and the great sweep of grass ran forward steeped in deepening shades of blue. There was something mysteriously impressive in the half light and the riot of color.
"What a glorious evening!" Beatrice could not help exclaiming. "I am glad I shall not have to leave the prairie."
The crimson flush on the skyline merged into rose and magenta and mauve.
"It is lighted up in your honor," Harding said.
"You have a pretty imagination; but I fear the gray days are more in keeping with the life I've led. It was often rather dreary at the Grange, and I felt that I was objectless—drifting on without a purpose." She smiled at Harding. "You can't understand the feeling?"
"No," he said. "All my life I've had too much to do. One gets self-centered through thinking only of one's work. It may be better to stop now and then and look about."
"It depends upon what you see. If your surroundings never change, you come to know them too well and begin to think that nothing different is possible. It makes one narrow. We may both need patience, Craig, before we learn to understand each other's point of view."
Harding realized the truth of this. They looked at many things differently, and there were points on which their convictions were opposed.
She gave the strong hand that held hers a slight pressure of caress.
"I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't been driven out of my way by the grass fire that night?" she questioned, woman-like.