Nella-Rose drew herself away and turned to pick up her little shawl and hat from the couch by the fire; she was just reaching for her basket, when a shadow fell across the floor. Truedale and the girl turned and confronted—Jim White! What he had seen and heard—who could tell from his expressionless face and steady voice? The door had been on the latch and he had come in!
“Mail, and truck, and rabbits!” he explained, tossing his load upon the table. Then he turned toward Truedale as if noticing him for the first time.
“How-de?” he said. Finally his gaze shifted to Nella-Rose and seemed to burn into her soul.
“Goin’, p’r’aps, or—comin’?” he questioned.
“I—I am—going!” Fright and dismay marked the girl’s voice. Truedale went toward her. The covert brutality in White’s words shocked and angered him. He gave no thought to the cause, but he resented the insult.
“Wait!” he commanded, for Nella-Rose was gone through the open door. “Wait!”
Seeing that she had for the moment escaped him, Truedale turned to White and confronted him with clear, angry eyes.
“What have you got to say for yourself?” he demanded fiercely.
The shock had been tremendous for Jim. Three weeks previously he had left his charge safe and alone; he had come back and found—But shock always stiffened Jim White; that was one reason for his success in life. He was never so inflexible and deadly self-possessed as he was when he could not see the next step ahead.
“Gawd, but I’m tired!” he said, when he had stared at Truedale as long as he cared to, “I’m going over to my place to turn in. Seems like I’ll sleep for a month once I get started.”