Immediately Mrs. Burton walked forward. There was something about the girl that attracted her. She was not pretty; her features were too irregular; she had a long nose a little crooked, a wide mouth, and her chin was too sharply pointed for the breadth of her brow. But her eyes were a fascinating grey-green with extremely dark brows and lashes, and her hair was reddish brown.
“I am sorry,” the Camp Fire guardian began quickly. “Dan and I must both have been mistaken in thinking you the person we were seeking. But you must forgive my nephew, the fault was mine. I was under the impression that some one was spying upon us, and who, for some absurd reason, was not willing to be discovered.”
The girl shook her head. “You were not mistaken. I have been watching you—or trying to—since early this morning. And I hate your having discovered me.”
She spoke quietly in a soft but at the same time throaty voice, as if she were a little hoarse.
Polly Burton was puzzled and yet it was stupid of her to have been. It was true that here in the West in the past few months, living outdoors with her group of Camp Fire girls, she had honestly forgotten a number of facts about herself.
“I don’t understand.”
But at this instant, murmuring something or other in apology, Dan Webster moved a few steps aside.
The girl turned her head.
“Don’t let go your hold on me,” she said almost angrily.
Again Dan held out his arm and this time the girl clutched it.