“Three or four dollars,” said Weston.
Again she turned toward him with a flush on her face.
“Now,” she said, “I think you can disregard trivial conventionalities. Won’t you let me lend you some?”
“No,” replied Weston quietly. “I shall not forget that you offered it, but I’m afraid it’s quite out of the question.”
She knew that he meant it, and, though she greatly desired to lessen his difficulties, she was, for no reason that was very apparent at the moment, pleased with his answer. Then she changed the subject.
“Can your partner cook?” she asked.
“No,” answered Weston, smiling, “he certainly can’t. I and a good many more of the boys know that from experience.”
“Ah,” said Ida reflectively, “that destroys another chance. Well, I am glad that I have seen you, but I think I must join Mrs. Kinnaird now.”
She held out the hand she had laid on the rail. It happened that as she did it the train swung around a curve. The car slanted sharply, and she swayed with the effort to keep her balance. In another moment Weston’s arm was around her waist. Then there was empty blackness beneath them as the cars sped out upon a slender trestle, and the roar of a torrent came up from below through the clash and clatter and clamor of the wheels. There was probably no risk at all, for there were rails on either side of them, but the girl, who had almost lost her footing, was glad of the man’s steadying hand, and did not draw herself away until the big locomotives were speeding smoothly on beneath the shadowy pines again. Then she drew back a pace or two.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.