This struck me as a clever maneuver, for if, as I hoped, she had seen nothing, the story would certainly reach Bonaventure, and it seemed much better that she should hear it first, and carefully toned down, from my own lips. Lucille Haldane's face cleared instantaneously, and there was a note of relief in her laugh.
"Must you always make a bargain? You remember the last," but here she broke off suddenly and favored me with a wholly sympathetic glance. "I did not mean to recall that unfortunate night. You should come to the point always, for you are not brilliant in diplomacy, and shall have without a price the information you so evidently desire. I was standing on the car platform when you rode up to the station."
We are only mortal, and I fear I ground one heel, perhaps audibly, but certainly viciously, into the boards beneath me. Still, I am certain that my lips did not open. Nevertheless, I was puzzled by the sparkle in Lucille Haldane's eyes which the radiant moonlight emphasized. There was more than mischief in it, but what the more consisted of I could not tell. "Have you forgotten the virtues of civilized self-restraint?" she asked demurely.
I could see no cause for these swift changes, which would probably have bewildered any ordinary man, and I made answer: "It may be so; but on this occasion, at least, I said nothing."
Lucille Haldane laughed, and laid her hand lightly on my arm as the cars jolted. "Then you certainly looked it; but I am not blaming you. I saw you ride into the station, and I hardly grasp the reason for so much modesty. I do not know what delayed you, but I know you were trying to redeem the trust your neighbors placed in you."
I was apparently a prey to all disordered fancies that night, for it seemed a desecration that the little white hand should even bear the touch of another man's jacket, and I lifted it gently into my own hard palm. Also, I think I came desperately near stooping and touching it with my lips. Be that as it may, in another second the opportunity was lacking, for Lucille grasped the rails with it some distance away from me, and leaned out over them to watch the sliding prairie, her light dress streaming about her in the whistling draught.
"The cars were very stuffy, and I am glad I came out. It is a perfectly glorious night," she said.
The remark seemed very disconnected, but she was right. The prairie there was dead-level, a vast, rippling silver sea overhung by a spangled vault of softest indigo. In spite of the rattling ballast and puffs of whirled-up dust the lash of cool wind was grateful, and the rush of the clanking cars stirred one's blood. Still, in contrast to their bulk and speed, the slight figure in the fluttering white dress seemed very frail and insecure as it leaned forth from the rails, and I set my teeth when, with a sudden swing and a giddy slanting, we roared across a curving bridge. Before the dark creek whirled behind us I had flung my arm partly around the girl's waist and clenched the rails in front of her.
"I am quite safe," she said calmly, after a curious glance at me. "You look positively startled."
"I was so," I answered, speaking no more than the truth, for the fright had turned me cold; and she once more looked down at the whirling prairie.