Weston looked at her more steadily than perhaps he should have done. There was something in her face that suggested that the last few moments had almost unnerved her. This, as he could realize, was not altogether unnatural; and then a sudden thrill that set his nerves tingling ran through him, as their eyes met. The events of the past minute had shown them, in part, at least, how they stood toward each other, and for the moment they could not hide it. Then Weston recovered the self-command that was rapidly deserting him.
“I don’t think that matters,” he said, apparently referring to the hat. “I want to thank you, Miss Stirling. It’s quite clear that I owe a good deal to your quickness and nerve.”
There were signs that his formal tone had cost him an effort, but the fact that, slightly dazed as he was, he had forced himself to make it, and had called her Miss Stirling, was significant, and Ida fell in with the course he had adopted. It was difficult for both of them, but she recognized that the matter must be passed over as lightly and as speedily as possible.
“You shouldn’t have gone out on that log at all,” she said. “You must have seen it wasn’t safe.”
Weston laughed, though the signs of struggle were still on his face.
“Did you notice that?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” said Ida, and then a curious little thrill of anger ran through her. The man’s attitude was only what should be expected of him in view of the difference between their stations, but, after all, it seemed to her that he had almost too much self-control.
“That is, not at first,” she added. “Afterward I did notice it, and I called to you. You didn’t hear?”
“No,” said Weston, “I didn’t hear you.”
He looked at her steadily; and the girl, who felt the impulsive desire to wound him too strong for her, made a little gesture.