He seemed to see regret, astonishment, questioning, gentle reproof, even a hint of amusement in her eyes. But her expression changed instantly. "I think you have something to remember me by; something you asked me for once, long ago. I sent it to you. You have never spoken of it—acknowledged it. I can't quite forgive that."
"Your glove. I know. I got it here." And he touched his breast. "I thought you would understand."
"I do. But, Collie, a girl always likes to be told that she is understood, even when she knows it."
"I was going to write about getting your glove, at the hospital. I guess I was too tired."
"Yes. Red sent it to me. Brand gave it to him to give to me—that time."
"Oh!" And Louise felt like retracting a little; but sweetly perverse, she obeyed sheer instinct. "Collie, do you realize that I have already asked you to dismount? Shall I have to ask you again? Do you realize that I am standing while you are sitting your horse?"
"I am begging your pardon, Louise."
The girl nodded brightly, smiling as she noticed the little scar on his chin—a wound that she had made him blush for when she had admonished him for fighting with Dick Tenlow.
She watched the rise and fall of the muscles of his arm, beneath his flannel shirt, as he lighted his cigarette. How broad-chested and strong and wholesome he seemed in the morning sunlight! There was an untamed grace about his movements, his gestures, which, together with his absolute unconsciousness of self, pleased and attracted her.