The rest glanced around in our direction, and Mrs. Leyland laughed mischievously. "If any of you are really interested, my friend here, who came in so quietly, would, I dare say, answer your questions. Let me present you, Rancher Ormesby."
I bowed as, endeavoring to remember the names that followed, I moved towards the chair beside her when she beckoned. It lay full in the light, and I noticed blank surprise in the faces turned towards me. Beatrice Haldane dropped the album, and for some reason the clear rose color surged upwards from her sister's neck. I stooped to recover the book, which lay open, and then stared at it with astonishment and indignation, for the face of the man standing beside a weary team, waist-deep in the tall grass of a slough, was unmistakably my own. I had forgotten the click of the camera shutter that hot morning.
"It was hardly fair of my hostess not to warn me, and this print was published without my knowledge or consent," I said. "Still, it shows how we earn a living in my country, and I can really tell you little more. We resemble most other people in that we chiefly exert ourselves under pressure of necessity—and one would prefer to forget that fact during a brief holiday."
The listeners either smiled or nodded good-humoredly and it was Lucille Haldane who held out her hand to me, while her elder sister returned my salutation with a civility which was distinct from cordiality. How Mrs. Leyland changed the situation I do not remember, nor how, when some of the party were inspecting fire-flies in the grasses by the lake, I found myself beside Beatrice Haldane at the end of the veranda. I had schooled myself in preparation for a possible meeting, but she looked so beautiful with the moonlight on her that I spoke rashly.
"We parted good friends—but no one could have hoped you felt the slightest pleasure at the present meeting."
"Frankness is sometimes irksome to both speaker and listener," said the girl, turning her dark eyes upon me steadily. "Can you not be satisfied with the possibility of your being mistaken?"
"No," I answered doggedly, and she smiled. "Then suppose one admitted you had surmised correctly?"
"I should ask the cause," and Beatrice Haldane, saying nothing, looked a warning, which, being filled with an insane bitterness, I would not take. "It would hurt me to conclude that those you honored with your friendship on the prairie would be less welcome here."
She raised her head a little with the Haldane's pride, which, though never paraded, was unmistakable. "You should have learned to know us better. Neither your prosperity nor the reverse would have made any difference."
"Then is there no explanation?" I asked, forgetting everything under the strain of the moment; and it was evident that Beatrice Haldane shared her sister's courage, for, though there was a darker spot in the center of her cheek she answered steadily: "There is. We are disappointed in you, Rancher Ormesby."