“I saw them,” Charnock answered with a languid hint of meaning. “Didn't want to join the procession and thought they might load up my rig if I got here on time.”
Keller looked hard at him, as if he understood, and then asked: “Want a drink before you start?”
“No, thanks,” said Charnock, with an effort; and Keller, going to the door, shouted: “Sadie!”
A girl came out on the veranda. She was a handsome girl, smartly dressed in white, with a fashionable hat that had a tall plume. Her hair and eyes were black, the latter marked by a rather hard sparkle; her nose was prominent and her mouth firm. Her face was colorless, but her skin had the clean smoothness of silk. She had a firmly lined, round figure, and her manner was easy and confident. Sadie Keller was then twenty-one years of age.
“I thought you had forgotten to come, Bob,” she said with a smile.
“Then you were very foolish; you ought to have known me better,” Charnock replied, and helped her into the wagon.
“Well, you do forget things,” she resumed as he started the team.
“Not those I want to remember. Besides, if you really thought I had forgotten, you'd have been angry.”
“How d'you know I'm not angry now?”
Charnock laughed. “When you're angry everybody in the neighborhood knows.”