"Oh! Ruth?" And Doris flushed just the least bit herself. "Why, little Ruth is not here now."
"Shucks! Well, I'm right glad you are! Was you goin' somewhere?"
"Yes. Out to my sister's on High Street."
"I only been in town two or three days, so I don't know jest where High Street is, but I reckon I could find my way back all right." And Pete so far forgot the perfume as to smile in his old, boyish way.
Doris did some rapid mental calculation and concluded that her latest—or rather her last—letter had just about arrived in Tucson, and of course Pete had not read it. That made matters a little difficult. But there was no reason in the world why he should not walk with her to her sister's.
Pete saw no reason why he should not, either, but rather a very attractive reason why he should.
Without further word they turned and walked down the street, Doris wondering what in the world had induced Pete to immerse himself in Frangipanni, and Pete wondering if there was ever a prettier girl in the world than Doris Gray.
And because Pete wanted to talk about something entirely impersonal, he at once began to ask her what she thought of his latest plan, which was to purchase an interest in the Concho, spend his summers working with the men and his winters in Tucson, studying with Forbes about whom he had written to her.
Doris thought it was a splendid plan. She was sure—quite impersonally—that he would make a success of anything he attempted.
Pete was not so sure, and he told her so. She joked him for doubting himself. He promptly told her that he didn't doubt himself for a minute, but that he did doubt the willingness of the person whom he hoped to make a partner in the venture.