She slipped her hand through his arm and drew him a bit closer.
"You're a tall young man, Ellis. Your mother must be very proud of you."
There was wistfulness in this voice, "I haven't any mother. She died when I was eight."
"Oh." Emma's sympathy was immediate and sincere. "I'm sorry! Do you remember very much about her."
He said simply, "I'll never forget her. We lived in Baltimore."
"Was it nice there?"
His voice was dreamy. "While my mother was alive, we had a big house and there was always fun. But she went, and then my father died when I was twelve and—"
He paused suddenly and turned to look shrewdly at her. "Any more questions, Mrs. Tower?"
In the darkness, Emma blushed. But she carried on determinedly. "You've expressed a desire to marry Barbara," she said frankly, "and you want to take her on an overnight trip to Laramie. Naturally, I intend to find out a great deal more about you, Ellis."
"Very well!" he said, angry now. "Here are some facts." He began speaking rapidly and distinctly, shooting out the facts as though he were making a legal report. "When my father died my Uncle George was the executor. There was always enough money, but Uncle George and I didn't get along. He wanted me to go into his bank. I didn't care for that. For a year I went to Columbian College—that's in Washington, Mrs. Tower, and then...."