“And perhaps just a little annoyed?”
The colour grew plainer in Violet’s cheeks. “Well,” she averred, “that isn’t so very unnatural. After all, I don’t mind admitting that I wish you hadn’t come like this.”
Nasmyth glanced down at his attire, and nodded gravely. “It’s certainly not altogether becoming,” he admitted. “I made that hole drilling, but I fancied I had mended the thing. Still, you see, I had to start on the moment, and I rode most of twenty-four hours in 299 the rain. I suppose”––and he hesitated while he studied her face––“I might have tidied myself at the depôt, but, as it happened, I didn’t think of it, which was, no doubt, very wrong of me.”
“It was, at least, a little inconsiderate.”
Nasmyth laughed good-humouredly, though he recognized that neither his weariness nor the fact that it must manifestly be business of some consequence that had brought him there in that guise had any weight with her. He had, after all, a wide toleration, and he acknowledged to himself that her resentment was not unreasonable.
“I’ve no doubt that I was inconsiderate,” he said. “Still, you see, I was worried about our affairs in the cañon.”
“The cañon!” repeated Violet reproachfully. “It is always the cañon. I wonder if you remember that it is at least a month since you have written a line to me.”
Nasmyth was disconcerted, for a moment’s reflection convinced him that the accusation was true.
“Well,” he confessed, “I have certainly been shamefully remiss. Of course, I was busy from dawn to sunset, but, after all, I’m afraid that is really no excuse.”
The girl frowned. “No,” she said, “it isn’t.”